


to slay the monster first speak its name

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Biopics, Daddy Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Festivals, Films, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Homophobic Language, M/M, Past Character Death, Past Drug Addiction, Rock Stars, Side Balinor / Hunith, Side Elena / Morgana, Slow Burn, Uther being a git
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2020-09-02 05:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 46,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20270560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: Merlin has always loved the ridiculous seventies-style glam rock band The Dragonlords, and so when the opportunity arises for him to audition for the part of their lead singer in an upcoming biopic, it seems like a dream come true. Who could resist recreating those iconic videos of the band battling monsters from the dark underworld? The anticipation thrills him as he steps into the draughty hall where the auditions are held, clutching his wooden dragon toy for luck.But just as he succeeds in landing the role, his dragon goes missing - and soon, shadows of the past come back to haunt him and his co-star, Arthur.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, it is time that Uther and Balinor get their biopic and enter the rock stratosphere where they belong, with Elton John and Freddie Mercury — or at least, that's what Uther thinks. Written for the _loss of treasured possession_ square on my h/c bingo card.
> 
> With enormous thanks to Aoigensou for your kind pre-read comments.

Merlin ascended a flight of stone steps worn smooth with age. He paused at the top, his hand on a door flecked with peeling blue paint. Upon this door, a sign said: _ Quiet please. Auditions _. 

Yes. This was it, all right. Fingering the lucky wooden dragon that he always kept on the leather string around his neck, Merlin paused for a moment on the threshold, taking a couple of deep breaths. 

“Here it is, Aithusa,” he said to the dragon. He kissed her nose, for luck, then tucked her back inside his shirt. 

Like the door, the decor inside had seen better days: flaking walls painted yellow, with an underlying layer of green showing through in patches. But there was an air of anticipation about the place that made his pulse race. This was it. This was his chance. He breathed deeply through his nose to quell the fluttering of his heart, and pushed through a pair of double doors into the room behind. 

Here, in a stifling space too small for the number of people, sat small groups of young men and women, some huddled together, some sitting alone, eyeing one another with a nervous curiosity—clutching sheafs of paper, or glaring defiantly at the assembled crowd. Still others—he recognised the type from drama school—conducted loud conversations to themselves, or practised ostentatious vocal warm-ups with a lack of self-consciousness that made Merlin want to roll his eyes. 

A row of plastic seats had been set out, and he approached one of these, where a handbag sat on a chair between two women—one blonde, one dark. 

“Is this seat taken?” he said, raising an eyebrow in what he hoped was friendly enquiry. 

The blonde women removed the bag with a begrudging eyeroll, not pausing in the conversation she was holding on her mobile phone. Taking this seat with an apologetic shrug, Merlin rummaged in his backpack for a bottle of water and took a sip. 

“Oh, God, I wish I’d remembered to bring some water.” The woman on the other side of him tilted her head on one side. “I’m so nervous I think I’m going to puke. Not that I puke a lot, obviously. But this is kind of a big deal, and it’s so hot in here.” 

“Do you want some?” 

“Oh no! I didn’t mean...! Although, it’s very kind… But you’ve drunk out of it. Not that I think that you’ve got AIDS or anything. Not that there’s anything wrong with having AIDS, I know you can’t get HIV from drinking out of the same bottle, that was a bad example. Winter vomiting virus, though. You can definitely get that. Oh, shit. What am I going on about?” Her hand flew up to her mouth. “Here you are, and I’ve never met you before, and I’m going on about winter vomiting virus in a completely revolting way. I’m sure you don’t have winter vomiting virus! Oh, God. I’m such a blabbermouth! I talk too much when I’m nervous, not that I’m nervous about this job... oh, God, who am I trying to fool?” 

“That’s not what I meant!” Trying not to laugh at the poor woman’s mortified expression, Merlin bent to unzip his backpack again. “I mean, I had to buy a multi-pack. So I brought two. Here!” He waggled another water bottle at her. 

“Oh, God.” She held out her hand, smiling with her head tilted on one side. “You’re a saviour! Are you sure? Even after I accused you of transmitting viruses all over London?” 

“It’s no trouble, honestly. You made me smile, which takes my mind off this whole horrible audition thing. I’m Merlin, by the way.” 

“Awful, isn’t it.” She pulled a face as she unscrewed the bottle, and then she took a sip. “Oh, God, that’s better Thank you so much. I’m Gwen. And I don’t even know why my agent sent me here. Ygraine Pendragon was blonde. And white.” 

“You’re auditioning for Ygraine?” Merlin smiled back at her. “Good for you! My agent said that the voice mattered more than the physical resemblance. I mean, look at me! I’m trying for Balinor, but I look nothing like him! I can sing a bit like him, though.” 

“Oh! Brilliant!” She clapped her hands. “I hope you get it too!” 

Just then, the inner door opened and a head topped with sleek, black hair poked out. “Gwen Leodegrance?”

“Oh, shit! That’s me!” Gwen took a big glug of water, choked, and spilled it all down her front. “Shit!”

“Come this way, please, Miss Leodegrance!” Without pausing to check that Gwen was alright, the head disappeared again. 

“Wish me luck!” said Gwen in a theatrical stage whisper before following. “Save my chair!” she added, over her shoulder.

“Of course.” Merlin stuck up both thumbs. “On it!” He hauled his rucksack up off the floor and after taking his battered copy of Good Omens out, plonked it on the chair. 

But it didn’t take long for someone else to eye up Gwen’s vacant seat. “Excuse me,” said a pair of immaculately tailored trousers and shiny shoes.

“This seat’s taken, sorry,” said Merlin, without looking up. Eyeing the shiny shoes and making mental judgments involving the word _ posh _, he flipped to the next page of his book. He was just getting to a good bit. 

“Not for long.” Scooping up Merlin’s bag, the posh prat deposited it on the floor by his feet. “_ Et voilà _!” With a triumphant smirk, he deposited his (admittedly exquisitely sculpted) arse on the chair, spreading his thighs wide so that he encroached on Merlin’s personal space, his left leg forming a line of heat along Merlin’s right. He started to flick at his gold-lined iPhone with one thumb. 

“Jesus, what a prat,” muttered Merlin under his breath before resuming his perusal of Pratchett and Gaiman’s masterwork. Although, being human, he took a moment to appreciate the way those sculpted thighs flexed under the exquisite seams of those expensive-looking trousers, first. 

“_ What _did you say?” As the guy spoke, a waft of (mmm, expensive) cologne assaulted Merlin’s nostrils 

God, that cologne. It was bewitching. There should be laws against thickly muscled guys smelling that good. Merlin’s mouth was beginning to water. Abruptly, he shifted his weight away to give himself a bit more room, crossing his legs so that their thighs no longer touched. The last thing he wanted was to get an erection just before his audition!

“I said, fancy that,” said Merlin, more loudly this time, adding, “pillock,” for good measure. 

“You can’t address me like that!” said the prat. “Don’t you know who I am?” 

“Mmm? Should I?” Twisting his mouth in mock-appraisal, Merlin took a closer look. “Blond. Privileged. Arrogant. Behaves like an arsehole… Less good looking than Donald Trump…” 

“What the…!”

“...Not charming enough to be Boris Johnson…?” 

“..._ Boris Johnson _?” That jibe must have hit home, because the guy let out an aghast huff. “I’ll have you know that…”

“Nope.” Interrupting him with a triumphant grin, Merlin shook his head. “Don’t believe I do know who you are.” 

The prat opened his mouth to retort, but before he could say anything the same head that had called Gwen in, earlier, poked out through the door again. “Arthur Pendragon?” 

“Coming.” With a disdainful sniff, he stood up. “I would say see you later, but I very much doubt that.” His lip twisted up into a sneer as he deliberately eyed Merlin up and down before adding, “loser.” 

Shit. Merlin’s heart did a few flip flops before taking a southerly turn and diving into his boots. Shit, shit, shit. He’d only gone and insulted Uther Pendragon’s blood relative. 

There was no way he could possibly get the part, now. He was doomed. 

Later, when the woman with the sleek black hair re-emerged and called Merlin in, he could hardly bring himself to care. He’d already blotted his copy book. Still, at least that massive gaffe had got rid of all his nerves. When he stepped up onto the stage, dazzled by the lights, he could barely muster a tiny bit of excitement.

“Go ahead, please, Mr Wyllt,” said a voice that he recognised. God. Uther Pendragon. Merlin’s heart thudded around in his chest as if he was doing circuits. The one person that Merlin really needed to impress, other than Balinor himself of course, and he’d gone and likened his prat of a son to the two biggest oafs in international politics. Doomed. 

Still, he should give it his best shot. He owed it to himself to do that, at least. Dragging Aithusa out from under his shirt to give her one last kiss for good luck, he opened his mouth and started to sing “The Ballad of the Lonely Dragon” - tentatively at first, but then as he lost himself in the song, with more and more feeling, until he reached the end of the second refrain, where in the recorded version Uther would join in with Balinor and the painful song became a hopeful duet.

_ O who will fly with me once more…? _he sang. 

Merlin could hardly believe it when suddenly, right on cue, another _ a capella _voice joined his from the stalls - one he would recognize anywhere. Uther Pendragon! He faltered for a second but then carried on, stronger than before, matching Uther’s volume. Their voices merged in soaring harmonies that mimicked those he had always loved, even though - or perhaps because - his mother had forbidden him from playing anything by The Dragonlords. 

When he came to the end of the last verse, the auditorium fell silent, the last echoes of the song dying away. From down in the stalls came a slow handclap. 

Merlin stared, blinking, holding a hand up to his eyes to protect against the glare of the harsh theatre lighting. “Sir?” 

Merlin could hardly believe his eyes with Balinor himself emerged from the gloom, with Uther close on his tail, stalking up to the stage and then ascending the steps at the side to clap a disbelieving Merlin on the back. 

“Bravo, Mr Wyllt!” declared Balinor. “Morgana, I do believe we have found our Balinor.” 

Elation bubbled up in Merlin’s chest, making him want to punch the air. Balinor! He had done it! A lifetime’s ambition realised! He’d got the part of his favourite rock star in the upcoming biopic! It was going to be so amazing! He could picture the scenes now. Would they replicate the famous concert, where Balinor had flown in on dragonback to sing? He was so caught up in his fantasy that at first he did not realise the significance of Balinor’s next words.

“Bring Arthur back on, will you, Morgana? I’d like to hear them sing together. ” 

“Of course.” The woman with the sleek black hair came up to join them on stage, and flashed Merlin the sort of appraising grin that would have had him weak at the knees if he had even been remotely interested in women. “I’m sure Arthur will be delighted to have another chance.” 

That’s when the reality came crashing down on him. Arthur. The gorgeous pillock with the brutal scowl and arse to die for. Of course he would be cast to play his own father. Oh, God. And Merlin had called him a prat. And a pillock. And an _ arsehole _. There was no way Merlin would get through this. 

Sure enough, when Arthur came out onto the stage he took one look at Merlin and said, “Is this some kind of joke?” 

“Now, don’t be silly, Arthur,” said Morgana, with a smile that was half predatory and half appraising. “Merlin here is adorable, and he sings like an angel.” 

“I don’t care if he warbles like a canary,” scoffed Arthur. “As if a scruffy, big-eared chav could ever emulate Balinor. Look at him.” 

“Oi!” protested Merlin. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Morgana, crossing her arms, her eyes narrowing to a dangerous sort of glower that made Merlin shiver even though he wasn’t on the receiving end of it. She added, in a simper that didn’t fool him for a second, “Of course, it may be my professional opinion that he would be perfect for the role, but I’m only a professional casting director, so of course you know better, Arthur, dear, so do please go on. I can’t _ wait _to hear your insights.” 

“Don’t come over all sarcastic with me, Morgana. It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Arthur gestured towards Merlin with one hand. “He’s too scrawny, his eyebrows are too small, his eyes are the wrong colour, his ears are too big, and his hair is too short. You agree with me, don’t you Balinor?” 

Ouch. That hurt. None of these criticisms were new to Merlin, but they still had the power to wound when delivered so tactlessly. He opened his mouth to protest, but Balinor was already replying. 

“Sorry, mate.” Balinor shrugged. “We can fix all that in make up. The one thing we can’t fix is his voice, and I reckon that’s spot on. Go on, Arthur. Let’s hear you sing together. Give it a whirl.” 

Well, at least Balinor liked him. Balinor! As the piano started up again, Merlin took a swig from his water bottle, ignoring the way that his hand trembled as he sipped. Adrenaline made his tongue feel all thick and dry, which wouldn’t help him with the singing, and his legs felt like jelly. He had to get a grip on himself and focus on the music, on the performance, not on how high the stakes were. Before the final strains of the introduction faded away, he grasped Aithusa with one hand for luck. Then, lifting his chin in direct challenge, he fixed Arthur with as defiant a stare as he could muster. So what if Merlin was scrawny, and had ears that didn’t fit his face? He could sing as well as anyone, and Arthur was just another auditionee with no _ right _to judge him. 

When his cue came, his voice rang out just as true and bold as ever, imbued with all the power that Balinor brought to the original Dragonlords line-up. He’d been practicing for this day for years, and he would be damned if he would let some arrogant prat with an entitlement complex ruin it for him. 

Arthur’s eyes flickered away for a moment and back to him. He smirked, and for a moment, Merlin feared that he would not join in for the duet, but then he opened his mouth and started to sing along. 

Their voices blended perfectly, like magic, as if they were made to sing together. Incredulous, Merlin felt a beaming smile tug at his lips as they reached the final crescendo. Arthur smiled back at him, the theatre lights making his golden hair glow in a soft fan around his face, softening his eyes and highlighting his sculpted features as if they had been chiselled from marble. Their performance transcended the moment and there was only the song, with the Last Dragon declaring to the cosmos all his longing for someone to be his companion through all the lonely ages, and finally after all the many years of waiting, receiving a reply. 

“Wow!” said Balinor at the end. He clapped with an enthusiasm that made Merlin blush. “You two are perfect. It’s like you’re two sides of the same coin. I reckon you might even be better than me and Uther. What do you reckon, Pendragon, old fruit? Can we reproduce the legend with these two?”

“I will concede that Merlin did well,” Uther replied, directing an appraising glance at his son. “Arthur, you were a bit out of tune during the second verse. I still want to see some other people, but you will do as a back up. See to it, Morgana. We’re looking for box office takings that beat Rocketman and Bohemian Rhapsody into the dust. If that requires using autotune to iron out Arthur’s mistakes, then so be it.” 

When he strode off stage, feet tapping on the wooden boards, Arthur’s head turned to follow him. “Father, wait.” 

“Not now, Arthur.” 

The unguarded expression of hope fell from Arthur’s face, replaced by something blank and schooled. For a moment, despite his earlier hurt, Merlin felt sorry for the prat, who had sung perfectly in tune throughout. But when Arthur noticed him watching, he directed a scornful glare at him, which made Merlin feel three inches tall, so Merlin scowled back. 

A hand on his arm brought his attention back to Morgana, who was watching this interplay with a mocking half grin. “Don’t worry, you get used to Uther eventually.” 

“He’s… I mean, Arthur is his son and yet… how come he had to come to the public audition?”

Morgana shrugged. “Uther doesn’t want anyone to think that either of us is successful because of who he is. He wants us to earn our successes, that’s all.” 

Merlin shook his head. There was a big difference between having to earn your success, and having to earn your parent’s affection. He wondered if Uther understood that. 

Out of habit, he went to gasp Aithusa for good luck, but his hand patted only the flat outline of his throat. 

Somewhere during the song Aithusa must have fallen off. He scrabbled around the stage on his knees for her, but then Morgana was ushering him off because she had another ten Ygraines to hear before lunch, and that was it. 

He’d got the part. But he would have to co-star with the biggest, most hostile, most gorgeous and unobtainable brat of a dollophead this side of London. And Aithusa, his only connection with the father who’d left his mother before he was even born, was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Morgana Pendragon loved her role in this production company. Any large production was a huge team effort, of course, with hundreds of people contributing their individual geniuses to craft the final outcome. But in her view, the casting director exerted the most powerful influence over the finished product. And finally, today, after an exhausting week of auditions in a draughty little hall with leaky toilets and a dubious musty smell about the curtain area, she had found her Balinor and her Ygraine. Although she knew there would be repercussions from some of her choices, and she still disagreed with Uther on the actor that he would prefer to play himself, she was more than satisfied on the other two leads. 

As she ruminated, she cast her eyes once more over the stage, which earlier had housed several props used in various read-throughs, but was now bare. Her eyes fell on something small and white on the boards. Something that one of the technicians had dropped, perhaps. Bending, she retrieved a pale, carved wooden dragon, with a hole through one wing, through which was threaded a frayed leather string. The leather had evidently snapped so that the dragon had fallen off. Maybe it belonged to an auditionee rather than a technician. Too crude in execution to be of anything more than sentimental value, it had probably been a good luck mascot or something of that sort. She turned it over and over in her hand, oddly charmed by the smoothness of the wood and the bright gleam of the dragon’s green, stuck-on glass eye. 

“Poor little thing,” she murmured. “Your owner can’t have had much luck, losing you!” 

Just then, her mobile rang. Scrabbling around, she unzipped her shoulder-bag one-handed, and fished her mobile out. 

“Morgs?” queried a familiar voice. “You done yet?” 

“Elena! Darling!” Morgana smiled, a warm feeling growing in her chest as always as she anticipated going home at last. “Just another minute or two and then I’ll be on my way.” 

“Did you find the people you wanted?” said Elena. There was a hissing sound in the background that Morgana couldn’t quite identify. 

“I think so.” Morgana chuckled. “I’ve got perfect choices for Balinor and Ygraine. But the press are going to have kittens!” 

“Why?”

“Well, the guy I’ve cast for Balinor is clearly as gay as… what’s the phrase? A tree load of monkeys on laughing gas…” 

“That shouldn’t be a problem!” said Elena, supportive as always. “Straight guys have been playing gay roles for year, time for a dose of their own medicine!” 

“Exactly! And I’ve cast a woman of colour for Ygraine.” With a chuckle, Morgana started to walk backstage where she stood with a hand poised over the stage light switches. She would need to turn everything off before leaving. “She sings like an angel. Once I heard her, that was that.” 

“Good on you! What does Uther say?” 

“Oh, he’s fine with it.” With the hand still holding the dragon, Morgana tried to flick one of the light switches down, but it was a bit stiff, and wouldn’t budge. She couldn’t quite get enough strength in her fingers while holding too many things. She tried holding her phone against her ear with her shoulder, but it felt too precarious. “He heard her sing, too, and agreed that she was perfect. Plus, she can play the drums! No, the only problem I have is that he doesn’t like who I have chosen to play _him_.” 

“Surely Arthur’s the obvious choice?”

“You’d think.” On an impulse, she put the dragon in her bag, thinking to toss it in the bin when she got home. With her right hand now completely free, she stood a much better chance of getting the hall lights off and leaving. “Our father seems adamant that he has to cast some annoying no-hoper who looks exactly like him when he was younger.” 

“What does poor Arthur think about that? Anyway, I’m… ” There was a sudden burst of static and a distant sharp sound. “Ow!” 

“What’s the matter?” Alarmed, Morgana paused, finger hovering. “Are you okay?” and then it dawned on her what the sharp sound must have been. “You’re not cooking again, are you?” That hissing noise must have been the sound of frying onions or something.

“Cut my finger. Chopping olives. Tricky little bugger, your olive.” Elena’s breath made the phone crackle. “Ugh. Finger’s not too bad. Clean, you know? Just a bit sore.” Elena loved to cook, but she was a liability in the kitchen. 

“I’ve told you before, just don’t do it!” Exasperation warred with anxiety and Morgana turned the remaining lights off as quickly as she could. “Just leave it, darling, I’ll finish chopping when I get home, and you can do all the creative stuff without cutting or burning yourself. You know it makes sense.” 

“Damn. It’s bleeding everywhere. I just…” There was a slight hitch in Elena’s voice. “I wanted to cook puttanesca, because I know you love it. And you’ve been working so hard this week...”

“Oh, sweetheart! Just… put the knife down first. Now, keep your finger safe, honey, okay? Turn everything off and apply pressure to the wound.” 

“But it’ll spoil,” wailed Elena. A distant beeping noise sounded through the phone. “Oh hell, there goes the pasta boiling over.”

“It’ll be fine!” Hastening out of the door, Morgana scrabbled in her bag for the keys to lock the place up. “Just turn it all off for now, you silly sausage, and I’ll be home in five minutes!”

So all in all, what with all the worry, and popping plasters on Elena’s finger, and kissing her better (which went on for quite a long time), and finishing cooking the pasta sauce before eating together and then snuggling under the duvet in the sweet little Mayfair mews that they shared, Morgana forgot all about the tiny dragon. So, it lingered in her bag, hidden beneath a bag of tissues and the little zip-up purse where she kept her emergency tampon supply. 

And there, for weeks, it stayed. 

Unnoticed, but not unmissed. 

*

“Take thirty five. Action!” For the umpteenth time that day, the clapperboard came down.

***

> _Three figures stand on the ramparts of the castle. Above their heads circle the wheeling shapes of crows. Away in the distance, the shimmering waters of the Bristol Channel glow in the morning sunshine. _
> 
> _“... a band, not a dictatorship.” Arms akimbo, Balinor glowers at Uther. _
> 
> _“It’s been a long time, Balinor.” Uther glowers back, flexing his muscles. “And now you step in, as if nothing’s changed. Well it has. Ygraine is mine now, and she always will be.” He breaks into a fit of coughing. _
> 
> _“Don’t I have a say in this?” Ygraine’s mouth narrows and a distressed line appears between her brows. She catches at Uther’s arm. “Uther, please. there’s no need. We can sort this out like adults, surely.”_
> 
> _“Don’t care, anyway, mate.” Feigning nonchalance, Balinor gazes down at his fingernails. “I’ve met someone.” _
> 
> _“What, you?” Uther snorts, then coughs again. “What were they, some kind of fucking troll? Whoops, oh, fuck, sorry. Sorry....” _

***

“Cut!” yelled Gaius. As the first assistant director, Gaius yelled a lot. “Valiant, how many times do I have to tell you that you cannot use the f-word unless it is scripted!” 

All the actors shifted and a few of them rolled their eyes. 

“I was ad-libbing!” said Valiant hoarsely. “Says so on the script.” He coughed again.

“By dear God in heaven and all the saints,” said Gaius wearily. “Ad lib _in character_! Uther Pendragon does not swear like a navvy. God. And what’s with all the coughing? Someone get Valiant some water.” 

While Gaius scolded Merlin’s co-star, Merlin just sighed and rolled his head to relieve the stiffness of his neck, shifting his weight from side to side. Professional as ever, Gwen resumed her position, ready for the next take.

“Sorry, mate.” Valiant shrugged and flashed Gaius a roguish grin that did nothing to quell Gaius’s eyebrow. “It just felt right to drop the f-bomb, you know? You sure Uther wouldn’t do that? Seems like the sort of thing he’d do in the heat of the moment. It doesn’t seem right for a rock star to be so… you know. Clean cut.” He looked around, wide-eyed. “Right?”

No-one rushed to agree with him. They’d all met Uther and the idea of him swearing was frankly ludicrous. Plus, the coughing was getting worse and worse, and Valiant was beginning to get hoarse. Merlin surely was not the only one who was becoming concerned that they wouldn’t be able to shoot the critical singing scenes if Valiant didn’t take better care of his voice. 

“Give me strength.” Gaius pinched the flesh at the bridge of his nose. “It’s not just about the swearing, Valiant. Your accent wavered several times, plus there’s that persistent coughing… Just… look, everybody take five minutes, would you?” He strode off towards his trailer.

A general murmur went up as the crew downed tools. Some reached for their phones, others swigged at water bottles. A couple of make-up artists rushed over and started touching up Valiant’s guyliner and fiddling with all the actors’ costumes. 

“What are you looking at?” Val’s chin jutted out and his shoulders squared. 

“Nothing.” Merlin held up both hands. 

“You heard him, get me some water,” Val yelled at Finna, who glared at him and raised her middle finger. 

“Finna’s operating the camera, Val,” Merlin pointed out. “It’s not her job to fetch and carry for you.” 

“Well you fucking get it for me then,” said Val with an aggressive poke at Merlin’s side that made him wince. “Go on. I’ll be here with sexy Sophie for a while.”

“It’s Sefa, not Sophie,” said Merlin with a scowl. “And stop harassing her, you gorilla, or Gaius will have you off this production quicker than you can say inappropriate touching.” 

“Jesus. You would say that. You’re such a pathetic pansy.” An ugly sneer drew up one side of Val’s mouth. “How anyone could cast a poof like you as Balinor is beyond me.”

“And how anyone could cast a neanderthal like you as Uther…” retorted Merlin, his face pinking. 

Gwen, life-saving Gwen, turned up then with refilled water bottles that she handed out. 

“Ah, Gwen, Gwen, gorgeous Gwen.” Val leered at her and winked before adding in a hoarse whisper, “I can’t wait to shoot the bedroom scene with you. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed, know what I mean?” 

It was a strong testimony to Gwen’s acting skills that she did not throw up all over Val’s leather trousers. 

“Oh, my God, Val. I can’t believe you said that.” Merlin shook his head. “That was beyond inappropriate and bordering on criminal. Apologise to her, Val. Right now!” 

“All right all right!” Val held up both hands, but a smile played across his mouth. Merlin wanted to punch it. “Jesus! I can’t have a bit of banter, on set, any more? Bloody political correctness gone mad.”

“Behaving with respect is a basic human requirement, not political correctness,” hissed Merlin between his teeth. “Now apologise.” 

“All right, keep your bloody hair on.” Val rolled his eyes. “I’ll bet Donald Trump doesn’t have to put up with this.” 

“Trump? Your choice of role model speaks volumes about you,” said Merlin.

“We’ll I’m off to drain the snake.” Val stomped away in the direction of the portaloos. 

“Do you think Gaius will sack him?” whispered Gwen as Sefa tugged at a strand of her hair that looked immaculate to Merlin but evidently had come adrift. 

“I don’t think he can,” said Merlin out of the corner of his mouth. “Only Uther can do that.” 

Why on earth they hadn’t just cast Arthur Pendragon as his father in the first place, Merlin would never know. Valiant, for all his supposed physical resemblance of a young Uther, was an utter disaster. And while Arthur had been a posh git, at least he didn’t come across as the sort of posh git who would harass, belittle and insult the cast and crew. 

Plus, he was gorgeous. 

When Gaius finally emerged, rubbing a weary hand over his face, he waved them back into position. “Take thirty-six,” he said. “And this time, Valiant, just get it right.” 

Valiant didn’t. After two coughing fits, a misremembered line which he tried to blame on Merlin, and a fit of the giggles that again dissolved into coughing, it was getting dark when they finally ended the day on the fortieth take. Gaius was not happy with the scene, and Valiant’s accent was still off. 

Which meant that it was midnight by the time Merlin slumped into the hotel bed, rubbing at his painful neck. He’d spent hours standing in the same position, and his head throbbed from lack of sleep. From the next room, the heavy boom of a bass beat started up. It made the walls vibrate. He groaned. Evidently, Valiant was having another one of those parties that he’d been holding all week. 

Merlin put his headphones on against the noise, but that would not be enough, not if tonight was anything like the last five. Sure enough, a few minutes later the smell of cigarette smoke drifted in through his open window. Banished from the hotel rooms when they wanted to smoke, Valiant and his cronies had come out onto the balcony to continue their partying on into the wee small hours. 

After getting up to close the window, mourning the loss of fresh air, Merlin put his pillow over his head. But it did nothing to drown out the lingering smell, and the bass beat still made his bed shake. He could go and knock on Val’s door and ask him to shut up, but Val was an aggressive git when he was drunk, and right now he Merlin was too tired for an argument. Instead, he grabbed his phone, which was alive with messages from the group chat that until yesterday had been called “Petition Gaius to Sack Val” but was now named “All Power to Gaius’s Eyebrow”.

>   
**Merlin:** liking the new group chat name ;) ;) ;)  
**Gwen:** thanks - it was morgys idea   
**Morgana:** don bland met! I hare ever respect for Gas eye brown  
**Morgana:** dam autocorrect u no watt i main  
**Finna:** I <3 U Morg  
**Merlin:** anyone know any assassins? :( :( :(   
**Gwen:** oh, god, is val doing it again   
**Merlin:** yeah - right now they’re listening to Call Me Maybe on loop grr :( :( :(  
**Gwen:** that’s officially an international war crime  
**Finna:** want me to round up the posse? Alator is just waiting for your signal  
**Merlin:** shoot me now >:( >:( >:(  
**Gwen:** i can’t shoot you Merlin if you weren’t there who would i roll eyes at every time Val lapses into broad lancashire when he's meant to be posh old uther and who would defend me every time he acts like a sexist pig  
**Merlin:** Maybe Gaius can eradicate the accent with a sweep of his eyebrows haha :D :D :D   
**Gaius:** Just go to sleep, everyone. I will handle this.  
**Merlin:** JEEEZ omg Gaius I’m so sorry I didn’t know you were in here {:o {:o {:o  


With a frantic swipe of his thumb, Merlin opened a private message to Gwen

>   
**Merlin:** WTF Who invited Gaius to the group chat?  
**Gwen: **…  
**Merlin:** GWEN WTF????  
**Gwen:** oops sorry merlin it was morgana i swear  


Aghast, Merlin flung his phone across the room. God. Now, not only was he unable to sleep because of that fuckwit Val and his Carly Rae Jepson fetish, he was going to get sacked, to boot. Probably. He instinctively reached for his dragon pendant, Aithusa, for comfort, remembering when he touched only bare skin that she was gone forever. 

“Fuck my life,” he said out loud.

And of course, Merlin didn’t get sacked. But when he arrived on set the next day, he almost thought it might have been better if he had.


	3. Chapter 3

After a night of little sleep, Merlin could hardly be blamed for being bleary-eyed as he clutched his coffee and meandered, half-asleep, towards the make-up trailer. Still yawning, he tripped on something as he ascended the steps and instinctively reached out to steady himself, grasping a fistful of a smooth, red leather. A jet of coffee sloshed out of the lid of his mug. The jacket retreated out of its path just in time and it splashed into a harmless brown puddle on the top step.

“Oops! Sorry!” Merlin blinked up at the jacket's owner. He found himself gazing, dumbfounded, into a stormy pair of blue eyes. “Um.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. It was Arthur Pendragon. As if Merlin didn’t have enough trouble getting along with his co-stars, what with the whole Valiant situation and everything. The last thing he needed was to be patronised by that handsome-yet-entitled clotpole _again_. And what the hell was he doing here anyway? 

“Watch where you’re going, you clumsy oaf!” replied Arthur in a strangled voice. “You nearly got coffee all down me! Wardrobe will kill you if you get a drop on this jacket!”

“But you’re…” Merlin stammered. “I mean, I thought…? What are you… um? And aren’t you…?” He waved his hands vaguely in Arthur's direction. Because, now that he looked a bit more carefully, Merlin could see that Arthur was dressed in the leather jacket that Val had been wearing, the day before. It was meant to represent a costume that Uther wore back in the eighties for a promotional video for _Dragons on my Mind_, but everyone thought looked more like the one Michael Jackson wore in the Thriller video. It looked a darn sight sexier on Arthur than it ever had on Val. 

Blinking, he looked back at Gwen who was standing just behind Arthur, hair and make-up already immaculate and ready to go. Merlin raised his eyebrows at her, as if to say “help me!”, but she just shrugged and shook her head.

“But... you're not Val!” he stuttered. 

“Whatever gave me away?” drawled Arthur. His mouth half tilted up in an insouciant smirk that somehow made him look sexy as hell. Leaning against the door frame, he crossed one foot over the one he was standing on, and folded his arms, making his muscles flex beneath the red leather.

At once both indignant and horribly attracted, Merlin gulped. The bastard. How dare he have the audacity to ponce around the place, all fluffy blond hair, rugged jawline and devastating sarcasm? How dare he look like sex on legs despite being dressed in the most preposterous outfit imaginable? How dare he! Steeling himself against the instant wave of attraction that threatened to make him make an utter idiot of himself, Merlin cast about for a riposte. 

“But you are wearing Val's clothes!” he stammered out.

“Not exactly.” Arthur's eyes narrowed. “I'm wearing his _costume_. Do keep up, Melville. You don't think I'd normally dress like this?”

With an economic movement, Arthur gestured with one hand at his outfit. As well as the double-breasted red leather jacket, Arthur was also sporting a pair of well-fitted red sequinned trousers, which were tucked into two inch high calf-length silver platform boots. 

“Perhaps not.” Merlin let his eyes linger over the crotch area of Arthur's trousers for a moment before tugging them away with some regret. "And it's um... Merlin. Not Melville. But... not to put a downer on your prank or whatever, because to be honest I'm all for pranks on the sexist git, shouldn't Val be wearing that costume by now?”

“Val’s off sick. I have been asked to stand in. For now, at least.”

“Oh!” Merlin took a step back. Oh, no! His memories of the debacle at the audition came flooding back, and he felt a beetroot-red flush spreading across his cheeks. “That was um… quick… right!” he floundered. “I mean… haha, Val was still partying on the balcony next to mine, five hours ago! The ink can’t be dry on your contract haha!”

“It's good to meet you again, Merlin.” Now that the initial shock of their meeting had worn off, Arthur’s expression had morphed into something slightly less intimidating. And now he broke into a full-on smile that transformed made his eyes flash a mirthful blue like the sky on a sunny day. "you made quite the impression, the first time round. I'm happy to see you haven't changed.”

Behind Arthur's back, Gwen tittered into her hand. 

“Oh, haha. You weren't exactly Prince Charming, yourself.”

“I suppose that's fair.” Arthur nodded. “Given that we're working together, perhaps we should put that whole incident behind us and make a new beginning.” Serious, now, Arthur held out a hand for Merlin to shake.

God. The prat was gorgeous. And funny, too. Perhaps they could make this work. Plus, any hint that Val might be gone must be a cause for celebration. A faint spark of hope began to blossom in Merlin’s chest as he took Arthur's proffered hand and shook it. 

“As long as you agree not to throw coffee at me, this time,” Arthur added, with a sunny grin that took the sting out of his words.

“And you were doing so well! But you had to spoil it, didn't you?” Merlin grinned back. “So… what happened to Val? Did Gaius sack him, then?”

“Gaius can’t sack him,” said Arthur. “But Morgana can. And she… well, let’s just say she’s unimpressed at his behaviour.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m upset.” Talk about understatement. Merlin felt like punching the air. “Val is… um… well, it would be unprofessional to gossip, but, you know. He can be a bit…um...” He groped around for a word that meant “obnoxious” without sounding to judgmental.

“Difficult,” supplied Gwen tactfully.

“And, well. He can’t sing anywhere near as well as you.”

“Me? Oh! Thanks!” Arthur’s cheeks bunched up, scrunching his eyes into uncertain almond shapes and making his nose wrinkle in a way that Merlin really shouldn’t have found so disarming. “Really? That’s… oh. Well. Thanks. Um. That’s. Um.”

“Yeah.” Merlin blinked. “But I’d tell the hair team - that’s Sefa - that you want a new wig, though. Imagine wearing the same one Val had on. Ugh.”

Arthur’s make-up was done, but his hair was still a sun-kissed gold, rather than the slightly thinning brown-coloured wig that Val wore as Uther, so the hair team hadn’t got their hands on him, yet. It seemed a shame to cover all that bright hair up, really. Merlin’s fingers twitched with the effort of not touching a wayward lock that had fallen in front of Arthur’s ear.

“Good point.” Arthur laughed.

This version of Arthur seemed much more amiable than the one that he’d met at the audition. Merlin was going to follow up by saying that he didn’t understand why Uther and Morgana hadn’t cast Arthur in the first place, but something about Arthur’s earlier hesitancy held him back. 

“Look. I guess we got off to a difficult start but… well,” Merlin said. “I’d like to hope we can put that behind us, so… Welcome to the cast, Arthur.” To his surprise, he found himself meaning it. “Let’s hope you get to stay.”

“Thanks.” A crooked smile tugged at one side of Arthur's mouth, softening his jaw for a moment and making him look, if anything, even more handsome than before. “I'd like that. And I’ll find out soon, I think. Morgana said she was going to have a word with my father…” Uther still headed up the production team.

“Merlin? Is that you?” Sefa’s head appeared next to Gwen’s and she beckoned. “Come in for make-up, please. Gwen, darling, you look perfect, as always. Go and compose some love poems to your boyfriend or something, and don’t stay outside for too long. We’d hate a gust of wind to mess your hair up. Arthur, don’t go away, we want you back. It’s time to put that wig on.”

“Bad luck!” Merlin pulled a face at Arthur, who laughed and turned round.

Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all. Ascending the steps, Merlin clomped over to the make-up chair and gave himself over to Daegal’s ministrations, while Arthur settled into the chair beside him for Sefa to work her magic on the wig. According to the call sheet, they would be going over additional angles for the same scene with Balinor, Uther and Ygraine, today, but not reshooting the dialog. Presumably, that would be why it was okay for Arthur to stand in for Val - most of the shots would be taken from behind him.

But plans change, as they discovered when the second assistant director’s familiar grin appeared in the mirror.

“Morning, Gwaine,” said Merlin, grinning back. “What’s up?”

“Gwaine!” Sefa’s face lit up. “Did you bring me some more of your magic hair serum?”

“Ah! Good morning dear Sefa,” Gwaine winked and tossed her a bottle of some mysterious potion that she caught and plonked on the make-up table with a delighted squeal. “Looking gorgeous as ever. Ah, Daegal, that guyliner suits you, man. If I were ten years younger...”

In response to Gwaine’s outrageous flirting, both Daegal and Sefa batted their lashes in unison, presenting such a comical picture that it was all Merlin could do to keep his face neutral to avoid smudging his lipgloss.

“Anyway, aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?” Gwaine tossed his hair.

“I’d have thought that was obvious,” said Merlin. “You’re here to distract the crew!

“Apart from that.” Retrieving an apple from one pocket, Gwaine bit into it with a loud crunch, and chewed ostentatiously. “I have news!” he said, voice muffled by the food. “Hot off the presses, top secret and all that.” He swallowed and took another bite.

“Oh! I see!” said Merlin. “Gossip! Thought you looked gleeful.”

“Don’t insult me, Merlin. This goes way beyond mere gossip. This is dynamite!” Gwaine waved a scrunched-up sheaf of official-looking papers that he had clutched in the apple-less hand.

“Doesn’t look like much!”

“Stop talking, Merlin, darling.” admonished Daegal, bending to take a closer look at Merlin’s mouth. “Don’t move your lovely lips. Just pout for me.”

Merlin pouted at the mirror and Daegal bent to administer lipstick.

“So, aye, I’m gleeful all right,” said Gwaine, leaning his bum on a work surface cluttered with bottles and brushes and munching around the remnants of his apple.

“Get off there, Gwaine, darling, you’re ruining my system!” clucked Daegal. He picked up a blending brush and threw it at Gwaine’s head. “Off!”

“Sorry.” Without looking particularly contrite, Gwaine did as he was told, before plonking the applecore in the bin. “Anyhow. As gossip goes, it’s a juicy one. That knob-head Val has vocal polyps. He’s out for the duration.”

“Vocal polyps?” Sefa let out a delighted squeak. “Seriously! Surely they’ll have to find another Uther!”

“There now. Hold still, Merlin darling! Stop moving your face!” said Daegal. “It’s beard time!”

Merlin settled back in his chair while Daegal dabbed at his cheeks and chin. It was strange how the second AD could flirt with everyone without causing offence, whereas all Val had to do was just look at someone and it made their skin crawl. He’d debated this already a few times with Gwen, over coffee, and they’d concluded that it was all about respect and sensitivity. Gwaine genuinely liked everyone, but you could never imagine him going any further than flirting if it was unwelcome. Val, in contrast, was an insensitive oaf who bullied his way into getting whatever he wanted.

“Vocal polyps?” said Arthur.

“Yep!” Gwaine’s grin, if anything, widened. “You know. Abusing his voice with cigarettes, caffeine and alcohol. Didn't listen to warning signals from his own body. Didn't listen to Gaius. It’s fucked, apparently. He’s out of the production altogether.”

“Who’s taking his place, then?” His head joggled around while Sefa fiddled with the cap he would wear under the wig.

“Uther called me at five o’clock this morning and told me to offer Arthur the job, so… congratulations, mate. You’re your Dad! For real!”

“Me?”

“Yeah, if you want to be.”

“You’re done!” interposed Daegal, stepping away from Merlin’s face. “There, darling, you look gorgeous. Pout for me one more time?”

Merlin pouted at the mirror again, but halfheartedly as his attention was fully focussed on Arthur.

“But… won’t that cause you all sorts of trouble?” Arthur was saying. He looked weirdly alien with his hair trapped behind the cap, but it made the stark outline of his jaws and cheekbones even more prominent. “The production's behind schedule already.”

“Merlin, darling, stop worrying at your lip with your teeth!” Daegal chided.

“Aye,” said Gwaine. “But let’s be honest, the git was causing enough trouble. Anyway. Welcome to the team, Arthur. There will be five more days on location. A new call-sheet will go round shortly, and we’ll be on set for a few more days. Myror will be around with revised contracts. Laters!” And with that, he ducked out of the trailer.

“Vocal polyps? Seriously?” Merlin pressed his lips together to avoid breaking into an incredulous grin, which would not be appropriate in the circumstances. “Um. Oh, no! Oh, dear! Poor, poor Val! It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”

“Good riddance.” Sefa’s mouth turned down into a disapproving grimace while she grabbed a hair pin. “He’s a creep with wandering hands and disgusting attitudes. Finna couldn’t bear to even look at him. Plus, he’s lost a fantastic part because he could not maintain a professional demeanour or look after his voice. Gaius told him to avoid alcohol and cigarettes, but he was too full of himself to listen. Well, his loss is our gain. Arthur, it’s a pleasure to welcome you on set.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur.

He caught Merlin’s eye in the mirror, but didn’t return Merlin’s smile. For a man who’d just got the part that he auditioned for, Arthur didn’t look all that thrilled. But then again, it was difficult to tell what anyone was feeling with all that make-up on and a cap pulling at their face.

Maybe Arthur was just a really good actor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With apologies to actual professionals who know how the film industry works in the UK.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur was a really, _really_ good actor. 

Playing opposite him was a complete contrast to having Val in the picture. Arthur had missed all the read-throughs, but he’d clearly researched the role. This was only the first scene they had filmed together - but the contrast was enormous. 

Firstly, Arthur’s professionalism made the whole process so much more straightforward. There was none of the coughing, swearing, dissembling, misremembered lines and muffed blocking that had featured so prominently in filming with Val that Gaius had eventually resorted to making Val do most of his scenes sitting down. Not with Arthur. It was as if he had been researching for the part of Uther for most of his life - which, in a way, he had. 

And second, Arthur had an irresistible way of exploding into shots that drew every eye to him. Where Gwen was subtle and complex, Arthur lit the set up like a wildfire. There was an energy to him, an electricity, and an expert use of timing that made dialog sizzle and pop - especially when Uther and Balinor argued. Somehow, Merlin had just clicked with Arthur - and from their increasingly inventive back-and-forth of one-liners and ad-libs, the casual onlooker could really believe that Balinor and Uther were once best friends whose relationship had soured. 

It was like being on set with the Anti-Val. For the first time sime filming started, Merlin was beginning to feel a real sense of excitement building among the cast and crew. Gaius’s eyebrow had hardly moved at all. 

“...and Action,” said Gaius.

_Three figures stood on the ramparts of the castle. Above their heads circled the wheeling shapes of crows. Away in the distance, the shimmering waters of the Bristol Channel glowed in the morning sunshine. _

_“... a band, not a dictatorship.” Arms akimbo, Balinor glowered at Uther. _

_“It’s been a long time, Balinor.” Uther glowered back at Balinor, flexing his muscles. “It’s no use huffing at me like an impotent dragon, as if nothing’s changed. Ygraine and I are together, now, and nothing you do or say can change that.” _

_His jaw straightened and he dropped his eyes in a lazy blink that ended in a sneer. _

_“Uther?” Ygraine’s mouth narrowed and a distressed line appeared between her brows as she caught at Uther’s arm. “Uther, please. There’s no need to take this out on Balinor. We can sort this out like adults, surely.”_

_“It’s not me that I’m worried about, Ygraine.” Feigning nonchalance, Balinor gazed down at his fingernails. “I’m fine. I’ve met someone, actually.”_

_“You?” Uther lifted an incredulous brow. “Blind, is she…?” _

_“Oh, very funny… anyway… no, it’s not me that I’m concerned for,” interrupted Balinor, stepping up to Uther with a faint grin on his face. “I’ll be fine. It’s you I’m worried about, Ygraine. Stuck with this fusty old curmudgeon...” _

_“Curmudgeon is it?” Uther snorted, but did not give ground. “That’s a long word, Balinor. How long did it take you to find it in the dictionary? I suppose it is next to the word _curry_, you perhaps stumbled upon it by accident when you were looking up the spelling...”_

_Stepping in closer, until their faces were mere inches apart, Balinor shook his head, in mock sorrow. “Such a tragedy. A woman of Ygraine’s wit and intelligence deserves someone with at least one brain cell and a lot more follicles than you.”_

_“I’m standing over here!” said Ygraine. She waved. “Hello?” But Uther and Balinor squared up to one another, paying her no heed. _

_“Such a shame your brain is less generously equipped than your hair,” snapped Uther, poking Balinor in the chest. “And even untidier.”_

_“Me? I’ve done farts that are more intelligent than you.” Pressing his lips together, Balinor shoved Uther back until he stumbled against the wall, beyond which was a sharp drop down to the greensward below. _

_“Just as vulgar and flatulent as ever, I see.” Straightening, Uther drew back a fist. _

_“Oh, for God’s sake,” yelled Ygraine. She stamped one foot. “Stop it, both of you! Stop waving your metaphorical dicks around. Can I remind you both that we have a video to film? ” _

_Chastened but sulky, both men stepped away. Uther dusted his sleeves while Balinor pressed his lips into a mutinous pout._

_“That’s better.” Ygraine picked up her guitar. “Now, this is what’s going to happen. We are going to mime at the camera. Balinor, you are going to pretend to sing like an angel. And Uther, you are going to pretend to come in at the right time. Right? Now get your pathetic arses back over to the ramparts and stop pissing about.” She stalked off, waving at the props guy to bring the dragon back on, without bothering to wait for their reply. _

_“Yes Ygraine,” muttered both men at her retreating back. _

“...Cut!” said Gaius. He glared at them all, but in a friendly sort of way. “Okay, everyone. Not bad. Nice ad lib lines, you three. Take five. Leon, come with me.” He pushed himself stiffly to his feet and shuffled away towards his trailer, with Leon, the first assistant director, following in his wake. 

“You were brilliant, both of you!” said Gwen breaking into a dimply smile and tilting her head on one side. 

“_We _were brilliant?” Arthur let out a bark of laughter. “What about you? When you told us off for waving our dicks around, I honest to God thought I was going to burst out laughing!” 

“Yeah,” said Merlin, delighted to hear Gwen so rightly praised. “And then you went all cold, with that scary frown of yours, honestly I felt two inches tall! And you flounce brilliantly!” 

“Really?” Gwen scrunched her eyes shut and hugged herself. 

“Yes, really!” added Arthur. “Jane Austen eat your heart out.”

“Oh, stop it,” she said. But she looked pleased. 

“And oddly enough, Merlin wasn’t bad, either!” Arthur aimed a quick punch at Merlin’s arm and grinned, a sunny expression that made his eyes reflect the dazzling shade of the sky. It took Merlin a minute to work out that he was grinning back like a loon. 

How odd. For the first time on set, he was actually having fun. 

*

After that, the film made rapid progress. For the additional ad lib segments of dialog that Gaius introduced, Merlin and Arthur fired off one another as if they’d known each other all their lives. 

For Merlin’s part, he loved the creative process and did not want it ever to end. In particular, the studio parts of the production flashed by, as they reproduced dream sequences with green-screen and recorded layer upon layer of music, reproducing The Dragonlords sound production as faithfully as possible. He really enjoyed watching the rushes and imagining how it would all fit together. But some of the cast felt that that the film glossed over some key story elements. 

“Don’t you think that the story would be stronger with a bit more about their emotional journey after Ygraine died?” said Gwen, flicking through today’s schedule while they waited for the sound engineers to sort out some glitch or another. She was dressed in a flamboyant yellow trouser suit. She wore a pregnancy cushion beneath it, which made it bulge out slightly to make her look as if Ygraine were in the middle months of her pregnancy. 

“What do you mean?” Merlin flicked a bit of lint off his cape. 

He had tried to shed his inhibitions whenever he donned his Balinor persona, and when the cameras were on him, he largely succeeded. But between takes he couldn’t help feeling vaguely ridiculous wearing Balinor’s trademark black, studded leather trousers and a huge wig of long dark curls complete with matching beard. It wasn’t just the trousers that were the problem, either. It was the whole thing, from the silver bat-wing cape to the slashed-to-the-navel black-and-silver skin-tight top and impractical silver moon boots. But the worst thing about it was definitely the diamante-studded codpiece. 

When he’d come out of make-up that morning, Arthur had taken one look at him and burst out laughing. 

“You look like a girl, Merlin.” 

“Don’t be sexist!” Merlin looked Arthur up and down, lips pursed, taking in the blonde moustache, the mane of long blond hair and the vigorous masculinity of his body-hugging red, sparkling suit. “You look like a gay German porn star. From the seventies.” 

“Brave of you to mention gay porn, dressed like that,” drawled Arthur. “You look like you just walked out of a kink club.” 

“Oh, ha ha, Herman Lederhosen.”

“I’ll gloss over your inappropriate use of demeaning language for sex workers,” said Arthur. “Instead, let’s focus on the fact that obviously you’ve seen a lot of gay German porn.”

“I’m a master of the genre. It’s vastly under-rated.” 

“Then you must find me sexy.” Triumphant, Arthur struck a pose, thrusting out his chest and pouting. 

“In your dreams.” 

“In fact, I think I’ll call you Wilhelm from now on.” Arthur grinned. “Or Helmut.” 

“I think I’ll call you dollophead,” retorted Merlin. 

It was true, though. Arthur’s glam-rock persona rather suited him. For a start off, the costume department had really excelled. Arthur’s generously muscled arse and thighs filled Uther’s preposterous tight sequinned trousers beautifully. And secondly, the way that his shirt, also split down to the navel, revealed a delicious-looking trail of honey-gold chest hair and a pair of dusty pink nipples that made Merlin’s stomach do flip-flops, or possibly somersaults. Indeed, several other parts of his anatomy were starting to show a similar interest in acrobatics, without even asking him first. 

Mouth suddenly dry, Merlin had licked his lips and forced himself to leave the room. But not before taking another peek from beneath his lashes. 

The studio had been decked out with a domestic scene, faithfully reproduced from photos, complete with retro 1970s furniture, a box-like television in one corner, and a gas fire that looked like it would make the whole street explode if it were ever lit. 

“Waiting on sound,” called Leon. 

“You know!” said Gwen, now, from the quiet of the off-camera sofa where they both sat waiting for their cues while the sound team fussed over Arthur’s hidden mic. “Uther must have really gone through the wringer when Ygraine died. And then he was left with a baby, and no wife. It must have been awful. And then poor Balinor had his breakdown and went into rehab. Don’t you think the script glosses over that?”

“Nah. It needs to be mostly upbeat, doesn’t it?” said Merlin. “The audience wants to go to the cinema to sing along and enjoy themselves, not feel like slitting their wrists.” 

One of the sound engineers dragged another mic over, angling it towards Arthur’s position on the rug. 

“Final checks, please,” said Leon. 

“Can you look a bit more languid, Arthur?” said Gaius. “Spread your legs a bit, there’s a good lad. Now tip your head back. Perfect.” 

“Like this?” Arthur lay prone on the sheepskin, knees parted, throat and neck exposed like a golden smorgasbord of glam-rock sex.

Daegal dabbed at his neck with a make-up brush. It didn't look any different. Merlin couldn't help thinking that he was doing it just because he could. Good God. Merlin would do the same, given half a chance. Swallowing, he gave himself a mental shake and forced his gaze away to focus on Gwen. 

“But _Mamma Mia Here We Go Again _dealt with grief, and yet it still had the singing and enjoyment,” she was saying. “Grief is universal… and survivable. Don’t you think that’s an important story to tell?” 

Merlin shrugged. “I’d rather watch a movie that makes me laugh than one that goes over the whole grinding daily misery of grief. Wouldn’t you?” 

“Sometimes it can be cathartic, to understand that there’s someone else who’s suffered like you have.” 

“You sound like someone who’s had to deal with that. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” Gwen sighed. “You carry it with you, after a while. Grief, I mean. I just think… well, after Dad died, you see, I wanted to know that other people felt the same way. So yes, I would have loved to see a movie about all the pain. I think it would have helped, then.” 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay. It was - I know it’s a cliche, but time is a great healer. And I’ve moved on, you know? I remember my dad, and it’s a happy thing, most of the time. Although there are still those odd moments when I miss him like you wouldn’t believe. And I remember all sorts of happy things about him - the way he used to hide away in the garage with his tools when he was cross, and then how happy he was when he could fix stuff… his stupid jokes… Bitter sweet, because he’s not there, but happy because I had him. You know?” 

“I suppose so,” lied Merlin. He had to swallow away a sudden lump. He’d never had that relationship with his own father. A sudden thought struck him, and he nodded over at Arthur, who was now speaking into a mic for the benefit of the sound engineers while Sefa fiddled with his wig. “But, to be honest, I’m glad we don’t go any deeper. It would be horrible for Arthur if we did, don’t you think?” 

“Oh, God. I didn’t think of that. Forget I said anything.” Gwen winced. “Hey, guess where we’re filming after we finish in the studio?” 

Merlin couldn’t help admiring the way she changed the subject. 

“What?” He let his mouth fall open in mock outrage. “Don’t tell me you know, already. I thought it was supposed to be a secret?”

“I interrogated Gaius.” Gwen simpered. “Go on, ask me!”

“Gaius?” With an admiring shake of his head, Merlin paused to reflect on Gwen’s ability to extract information from the most hardened of directors. “How on earth did you persuade him to tell you!”

She tapped her nose. “Womanly wiles.”

“With Gaius?” said Merlin in an aghast whisper. “He’s not even straight!” 

“Shh! Now, stop prevaricating. Don’t you want to know?”

“Hell, yeah!”

“I don’t see you begging.” 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Pretty please!” 

She smirked. But when she told him, his heart sank and he had a sudden vision of what his mother’s face would look like when she found out. 

“What’s the matter?” A concerned frown appeared on Gwen’s face. 

Merlin opened his mouth to tell her everything and promptly closed it again. Honestly, if Merlin didn’t know better he’d think that she was a witch. 

“Go on, you can tell me.” Her voice oozed sympathy. This was how Gwen knew everything. That uncanny empathetic instinct she had, coupled with her innocent expression. It was all Merlin could do not to spill the beans about his mum’s hatred for _The Dragonlords_ there and then. But he wasn’t ready. Not yet. 

“Nothing,” he croaked out eventually.

“Picture is up,” called Leon. “Quiet on the set.”

Settling forward with his forearms on his thighs to watch the action, Merlin sighed inwardly. He would have to tell his mother about this role sooner or later. She would literally kill him if she found out from the publicity that would be starting up soon.


	5. Chapter 5

Today’s filming was not going well. 

It had started badly, when Merlin tripped in his platform boots mid-take and fell sprawling to the floor, wig flying off, and dignity severely dented. Arthur’s peals of laughter had not helped the situation.

“Merlin!” Leon rushed over to check he was okay. “Are you all right?” He hauled Merlin up off the floor, concern puckering his forehead. 

“Yeah I’m fine.” Merlin rubbed his bum, wincing. He flicked two fingers in a v-sign at the still-chuckling Arthur with a scowl, before adding, “a bit bruised, that’s all.” 

“Right. Well, try not to move too much. Those boots are treacherous, but you don’t have time to take them off between takes. Wardrobe - please check Merlin’s trousers. Can we get the wig fixed, Sefa?”

Arthur carried on laughing far longer than Merlin deemed appropriate. His mirth transformed his features into a picture of medieval handsomeness that quite took one’s breath away. Merlin was torn between wanting to punch the git and wanting to snog the horrible smile off his horrible, grinning face. 

In fact, Arthur had been insufferable, all morning, with his damned rugged jaw, and his damned broad, manly chest which he was parading around clad in a delectable, skin-tight costume that left nothing to the imagination. Plus, those damnable red trousers that creaked sexily when he walked, inviting attention from every person in the room. 

If Merlin had his way, those trousers would end up in the bin. After being ripped off. By Merlin. 

The blocking for the current scene had Arthur turning his back to Merlin, offering him a view of Arthur’s plump, juicy arse. Merlin had tried looking away, but Gaius kept telling him to look back and pay attention. Which would be okay, just, if it wasn’t for the fact that Arthur kept twitching one of his glutes. Being human, Merlin couldn’t help it if the movement caught his eye every time.

So, yeah, there was quite a lot of distraction in this scene and it really wasn’t Merlin’s fault that his lines just kept going clean out of his head. They weren’t difficult, really. All he - or rather Balinor - had to do was to comment on the fact that writing lyrics was a bit like writing poetry, and then Arthur in his role as Uther would reply in lofty tones that he loved poetry and couldn’t get enough of it. The scene was meant to be sweet and a tiny bit silly. But Merlin just couldn’t get it right, for some reason. 

“It’s a bit like writing pottery!” he said. “Er. I mean poetry. Damn.”

“Cut.” Gaius rolled his eyes. 

“Sorry!” Merlin closed his eyes and breathed in through his mouth. “I’ll get it right this time, I promise.” 

“Action!” 

Merlin looked up at Arthur’s back. 

Arthur twitched his glute. 

Merlin stared at the twitching bum, all juicy and perfect for biting into. “Um. It’s a bit like writhing poetry. Writing. Writing poetry. Not writhing. Shit.” 

“Good God, it’s like Val all over again. Cut!” 

And so on. It was after the fourth or fifth time he fluffed them that Arthur actually farted, a really loud and extremely smelly burst of gas that made the crew cough and grimace. He turned round to apologise, lips twitching, and then wrinkled his nose, wafting his hand in front of it. “God, that stinks. Sorry guys, I had eggs for breakfast.”

“You’re not yolking,” said Leon. 

That was it. The final straw. Merlin couldn’t help it. He barked out a laugh from behind one hand. All his earlier frustration and the indignity of his fall came rushing out of him in a stream of uncontrollable giggles that made his chest shake and his eyes water. 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Merlin.” Gaius rolled his eyes. 

“Not yolking! Yolking, rhymes with joking, get it?” Gaius’s face looked so funny! It set Merlin off again, which started Arthur going. “It’s a bit like writing p...p...poetry!” 

It was the most ridiculous un-funny pun, but soon, both of them were collapsing, weak-legged, in twin heaps on the floor, chests heaving. Merlin clutched at his sides. His eyes watered uncontrollably. The entire crew stood around them in a circle, and their disapproving expressions made Merlin began to sober up a little, at least until he caught Leon’s eye. Leon pressed his lips together but Merlin could see from the way that his beard twitched that he was also struggling to suppress a bad case of the giggles, which set Merlin off again, which set Leon off, and then Arthur started again… 

“Poetry!” said Arthur, wiping tears from his face while Daegal hovered with a make-up brush. 

“Poetry,” said Leon, wheezing into his inhaler.

“Oh, dear God. It’s like working in a kindergarten.” Struggling out of his director’s chair, Gaius fixed them all with a steely gaze, eyebrow kinked at an unlikely angle. “Leon, call me when you’re all over it. I’m going to get some lunch.” 

The whole situation was kind of ridiculous. 

They finally managed to get through the scene without corpsing. Merlin thought they had put the incident behind them when they collapsed into their chairs for Sefa and her minions to remove their wigs. Sefa popped out to go to the loo and they were sitting in exhausted but companionable silence, waiting for her to come back, when Arthur’s phone buzzed. 

Arthur picked it up, grimaced, and put it down again, unanswered.

“That bad eh?” said Merlin, catching Arthur’s eye in the mirror. “Ex girlfriend?” 

“What? No! Much worse than that.” Blinking, Arthur let out a heavy exhale. “It’s my father. No doubt today’s unprofessional behaviour will have been relayed to him already.” 

Merlin winced. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” Arthur’s lips pushed out into a pout that Merlin would have loved to kiss away. “It’s entirely my problem. I should not have laughed like that, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again” 

The phone’s buzzing stopped for a moment, and then started up again, its vibrations sending it skitting across the make-up table.

***

It was fair to say that Merlin didn’t quite share Gwen’s enthusiasm for the next block of filming, which would take place on location. 

“Oh, come on, Merlin, I don’t believe you!” she said as he strapped on his seatbelt in the back of the car that would transport them first to their hotel, and then on to Clearwater Caves for filming. Her eyes positively shone with excitement and the words tripped off her tongue. “It’s the cave of the Afanc! You know! _To slay the monster, first speak its name!_”

Merlin made a rude noise. He’d rather be at the studio than in some dank, smelly cave. Plus, there was the small problem of his painful crush on Arthur, which had reached alarming dimensions and was beginning to resemble an unslayable mythical creature itself. The daily torture of filming with the gorgeous git would be nothing compared to sharing an apartment with him. 

Plus, he still hadn’t told his mother about the role, and she was therefore going to kill him. 

And Aithusa was still missing.

“There’s not a lot to be excited about.” He pulled a face. 

“Grumpyguts.” Gwen bashed his arm. “Surely you remember the video? It’s iconic! I fell in love with Ygraine then, it was every little girl’s dream to play the drums like her and slay monsters, I mean, not every little girl, obviously, some of them wanted to marry Balinor, but she could have done that too, and this is the part of her life when she famously chooses Uther instead, luring him away from his girlfriend, and then Balinor says he’s found someone else, but no-one believes him, and he disappears for a year to find himself… it all starts here, with Ygraine…” 

“Breathe, Gwen!” says Merlin, deadpan. 

“...having two handsome men fighting over her! Anyway, I can’t wait to film this scene!” She clapped her hands in glee. “Plus I get to play on the drum kit. In a cave! Can you imagine the echo?”

It would have been churlish not to smile back. “Oh, I’m looking forward to it, too, Gwen. Just not as much as you! Because I’m not lying! I never saw this video back in the day. Oh, God, Owain. This radio station sucks. Can’t you find anything else?” 

“Sorry, mate. I’ll have a look.” The driver fiddled with the in-car sound system, but all he could find was a radio station that played a medley of X-Factor runners-up hell-bent on massacring Whitney Houston tracks with the help of an over-used autotune. “Nah, it’s rubbish reception in these parts, see.” 

“Never mind,” said Gwen. “You can switch it off, if you like. We need to educate Merlin, here. I’ll see if I can find the _Defeating the Afanc_ video on my phone. There.” She showed him her screen. “Do you really not recognise it?”

“Well, I do, now, because I’ve researched it, obviously,” Merlin laughed at her pout. “Plus, I was born not far from here... before Mum had to move back to Cornwall. But I don’t remember the video from growing up, no. Mum just never let me watch that stuff.” He shrugged and looked over her shoulder at her screen while she pressed play. “She’s always been a bit scathing about rock stars, to be honest. She preferred the sound of an orchestra, she always said. Plus, we only had one telly, and my mum never let me watch rock videos on it.” 

_“To slay the monster… to slay the monster… first speak its name…”_ The familiar strains of _Defeating the Afanc_ boomed out of Gwen’s phone, sounding tinny and wrong through the phone’s inadequate speaker, but nonetheless instantly recognizable. The video showed Balinor and Uther singing in a dark, cavernous space next to a glittering pool while Ygraine smashed away at the drum kit, blond hair flying out behind her as she drummed. Behind them, a simulacrum of a vast, fanged monster slowly rose out of the water, oozing menace. 

“But I can’t believe you never saw it!” said Gwen. “It was everywhere! On the news, on MTV, on Top of the Pops...” 

“Well…” Merlin looked up and shrugged. “My mum’s funny like that. For a start off, she really didn’t like The Dragonlords at all. She always moaned at me to turn that racket off whenever they came on TV… and said that Balinor was a scruffy oaf with meat for brains and a voice like a lawn mower.”

“Weird!” Gwen shook her head. “I mean, I thought everyone liked them. Disliking The Dragonlords is kind of like not liking Beyonce, or Queen, or… or the Beatles!” 

“I know! I used to have to listen to them with my earphones on! And she’d tell me to shut up if I started singing their stuff. 

The video came to a dramatic close in a burst of light as Uther spun round wielding his guitar like a sword, and Balinor screamed out his defiance at the creature. It definitely enhanced the experience of the song. No wonder it was famous. 

“It is good, I agree.” He’d watched it several times over the last few days, so that it was fresh in his memory for filming. “What’s the hold-up, Owain? What time are we leaving?”

“Any minute now,” said Owain. “Just waiting for Mr Pendragon.” 

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Well, at least it’s not Gwaine.” 

Merlin chuckled. Gwaine had a habit of arriving late to everything and sending Leon into a complete tizz. 

“So,” she added as she jabbed him with a curious elbow. “If your mum hates The Dragonlords, so much, what on earth did she say when you told her you were doing this job?”

“Erm…” 

“You have told her, Merlin!” Gwen tilted her head on one side. 

“Erm…” Shit. Bugger Gwen and her sodding intuition. Shit, shit, shit. 

“Oh, my God! You haven’t!” She shook her head. “You boys, I swear! The first thing I did when I found out I got the role was to phone my brother!” 

“Well, it hasn’t really come up!” said Merlin, lamely. 

“Well, you’ll have to tell her soon! We’re starting publicity soon! Morgana says that the press machine is in full swing… Gaius has an interview on Radio 2 next week! Surely you’ll want to tell her before she hears it on the radio!” 

“I know, I know.” He sighed. “I will tell her, honest. It’s just… I’d rather do it face to face, you know?” 

Just then, Merlin’s car door opened. 

“Look after this, _Mer_lin.” Arthur chucked a small rucksack on his lap before opening the front passenger side door and getting in. 

“What did your last slave die of?” protested Merlin, shoving the rucksack over Arthur’s shoulder to fall onto his lap. “Look after it yourself!” 

Arthur chuckled. “You’re so easy. Anyway, what are we talking about? Do what, face to face?” He yanked at his seatbelt until it jammed, a couple of times, before finally closing it with a click. “We can go now, Owain.”

Owain started the engine and clicked the indicators to pull away. The car started to move. 

“None of your business.” Merlin frowned at the fluffy back of Arthur’s gorgeous blond head. “Nosy prat.”

“Oh, come on. You can tell me. Just what are you trying to chicken out of, _Mer_lin?” Arthur rummaged in his bag where he retrieved a packet of mints, which he offered round with an accompanying eyebrow-raise. “Are you chucking your girlfriend or something?” 

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” said Merlin, still sulking as he took a mint. He jammed it into his mouth. “Never have, never will…” 

“Oh.” Arthur grinned, tossing a mint into his own mouth. “You’re one of us, then?” He yanked his seatbelt until it jammed, a couple of times, before finally closing it with a click. 

“One of us?” 

“A flaming homosexual. Like me.” 

Merlin’s mouth dropped open. Arthur was _gay_? 

“Ugh, close your mouth Merlin, I can see your mint, it’s disgusting,” said Gwen. 

“Oh!” A burning heat swept up Merlin’s face. “I just assumed… that is, I…” he stammered around his mint. 

“Assumed I was straight?” Arthur had half-turned to face them, arm draped along the back of the seat behind his head rest. Merlin wanted to be cross with him for being so darn nosy and bossy, but one side of Arthur’s mouth was tilting up in a disarming sort of half smile as he spoke, and Merlin couldn’t help finding it kind of charming. “Oh, don’t worry. Most people do. But from a comment like that, you’re either gay or asexual or… well, either way, you wouldn’t have said anything if you minded us knowing.” 

Merlin’s face flamed. “Oh. But, I am. Gay, I mean. I’m so sorry for assuming! I hate it when people do that!” 

And, oh, damn it all. Scrub the word charming. Now that Merlin knew that Arthur was gay, the way that Arthur subtly twisted his lips into a sly pout was as hot as hell. Plus, all that glute-twitching in the poetry scene... was Arthur flirting with him?

“It’s fine.” Arthur’s smile widened. “I know I don’t fit the stereotypes. Anyway, that’s enough about me. Let’s get back to the topic at hand. What are we working out how to tell whom, face to face?” 

“Hmm? Oh, that.” 

Merlin bit his lip. He wasn’t sure he wanted Arthur to know that his mum hated The Dragonlords. After all, Arthur’s dad was one of them. 

“Three heads are better than one, right?” said Arthur. “Four, if you count Owain, although I’d rather he concentrated on his driving.” 

“We were just talking about the video for _Defeating the Afanc_,” said Gwen. “It’s the scene I’m looking forward to filming the most. What about you, Arthur?” 

She picked up Merlin’s hand and gave it a little squeeze as she flashed him an understanding half-smile. Merlin felt like hugging her, but contented himself with squeezing back and hoping that the strength and length of the squish adequately conveyed the depth of his gratitude.

“Oh, the headline set at the Tintagel Festival, definitely,” Arthur was saying. “My father says it’s the most fun he’s ever had. Plus, we’ll be playing on the famous Stonehenge Stage at the actual Tintagel Festival, with all those epic bands, which is going to be amazing! Talking of which, is there anything decent on the radio?” 

When Arthur bent to fiddle with the sound system, they all chorused “No!”, but they were too late to stop the radio from blasting out a snatch of someone screeching “Didn’t We Almost Have it All” with more enthusiasm than skill for about three seconds before Arthur, shuddering, switched it off. 

As they drove off, Merlin couldn’t help thinking that Arthur had a point, though. The Dragonlords’ Tintagel Festival set was one of the most famous and preposterous live shows in rock history. In particular, no-one on the planet could fail to recognise Balinor’s performance of _“Banish the Dragon”_, featuring as it did the arrival of the lead singer astride a huge inflatable dragon, against the backdrop of a spectacular firework display and accompanied by Ygraine’s unforgettable drum solo and Uther’s doom-laden bass guitar riff. 

“I can’t wait to do the dragon scene,” confessed Merlin. “It’s going to be epic. But I’m a bit terrified as well.” 

“You’ll be fabulous.” Gwen patted his hand. “And all the Balinor fangirls will take one look at you in black leather trousers, and fall in love all over again.” 

“Wow. Oh, my God! The costumes!” The excitement fizzed around Merlin’s bloodstream like cheap champagne. “They'll be amazing!” He clutched Gwen’s hand so hard that she winced.

“Ow!” she protested.

“Sorry.” 

Arthur would be wearing scarlet and gold skin-tight leather trousers and Uther’s trademark Dragonlords cape. He would look like an absolute rock god. Just the thought of this appealing outfit made Merlin’s knees feel a bit weak. With a blink, he memorised this fantastical mental vision and filed it away for later. 

In the short time that he’d known Arthur, Merlin had grown more and more perplexed at the fact that his co-star was not yet a household name. With his broad shoulders, noble nose, arrogant jawline and soft, golden hair, Arthur should have been snapped by Hollywood to star as some great warrior from antiquity. Watching him now, with the strong muscles flexing in his neck and the sunny reflection of his blue eyes in the rear view mirror, Merlin could picture him galloping across the high plains of some distant land, cloak flaring out behind him, sword held high to rally his people. 

At the same time as recognising Arthur’s finer qualities, Merlin had also come to realise that behind that aristocratic lurked the heart of a monumental doofus who was just waiting for the chance to show off. 

Take now, for example. As they approached their destination, they had given up on the radio and instead had taken to belting out 1980s power ballads in four-part harmony, with Owain contributing a surprisingly well crafted bass part. Gwen was singing “Don’t stop believing!” as they turned into the car park, where the trailers were all set up ready for the day. 

As for Arthur… Arthur was singing “doo, doodoo doo,” in a high falsetto to provide Gwen’s piano accompaniment. 

Dork. Merlin couldn’t help smiling at the back of his golden head. 

Gwen nudged him.

“Ow!” Merlin broke off his reverie and frowned, rubbing his arm. “What was that all about?”

Gwen nodded towards the obliviously singing Arthur before putting up both thumbs. Which was when Merlin realised he had stopped singing some minutes ago, and Gwen had just caught him staring at Arthur with what could probably best be described as a besotted smile on his face. 

She raised her eyebrows and made a complicated gesture with her elbows, which he pretended to misunderstand. 

God. Was he that obvious? 

Shit. He definitely was. 

And he’d been found out.


	6. Chapter 6

In their next block of studio filming, Arthur was playing an older and grieving Uther, while Merlin became a care-worn Balinor complete with wrinkles and greying, shaggy hair. This necessitated using latex prosthetics which took a fair amount of getting used to. 

Meanwhile, Gwen was getting a week off and had gone back to London. Instead, they had to deal with a child actor called Mordred who looked like an angel but after two days of filming, his chaperone would confirm that he was actually the spawn of Satan. 

Fortunately, he was also ridiculously talented at pretending to be Arthur. The team had long ago ditched the wooden script and were now improvising, which with Mordred was not without its risks. 

“...and Action.” 

_“Arthur? What are you doing here?” Uther frowns as he pours a shot of whisky into his glass. “It’s past your bed time.” _

_“I don’t mind,” says Balinor. He kneels and beckons. “Hey little dude. How’s it hanging? How about a hug?” _

_Arthur does not move, hugging his soft toy instead. “Father, why is Uncle Balinor so hairy? Is he an actual gorilla?”_

_“Don’t be ridiculous.” _

_Arthur pouts. “Nanny says that all men are like gorillas. Nanny says that they’re smelly and bad tempered. Nanny says--” _

_“Nanny says altogether too much. Now go to bed. Balinor and I are having a private, adult conversation. And give me that ridiculous toy. It is riddled with germs. Besides which you are far too old for such babyish things.” _

_But Arthur just hugs the toy tighter and backs away towards the door. Furious, Uther wrestles it from him and dunks it unceremoniously into the waste-paper bin next to his desk. He pushes his son out of the door and shouts for the nanny, slamming the door behind him. As the door closes behind his sobbing son, Uther sinks into his chair and sips his whisky. _

_Balinor shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be so hard on him. He’s only a kid.” _

_“He’s old enough to know better.” _

_“How old is he?” _

_“He just turned seven.” Uther scowls. “Last week.”_

_There’s a moment’s pause while the penny drops. _

_“Oh, yeah. Of course,” Balinor says, putting a hand on Uther’s shoulder. “Fuck, man, I’m sorry. I forgot. You need to move on, you know, man. If I had a son, I’d be… I don’t know. I just wish I had one, you know? You need to be grateful for what you’ve got. You’re a lucky man, Uther. He’s a great kid. I’d give anything to have a family.” _

_“Do me a favour and spare me the hippy clap trap.” Shrugging off Balinor’s hand, Uther tosses the remnants of his whisky back and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, slamming his glass so hard onto the table that it rattles._

“CUT!” Gaius waved at the team and rose to his feet. “Thanks. That was great, Mordred. Brilliant, Arthur. Just the right amount of coldness mixed with the pathos. That’s it for today. Well done, everyone.” 

All around him the cast and crew exhaled and started picking their stuff up for the day. Pulling a face, Mordred started to tug his wig off, which made Sefa squeal and chase him at high speed out of the room, followed by his harrassed-looking chaperone. Meanwhile, Finna and the other camera crew did something complicated with the wires and electronic equipment. Amid the pandemonium, out of the corner of one eye, Merlin could see Daegal beckoning for him and Arthur to come over and get his prosthetics off their faces. 

But instead of following Daegal’s beckoning hand, Arthur stalked out of the studio’s open fire exit and was swallowed up by the darkness of the car park. 

“Arthur?” called Merlin, taking a step towards him as if to follow. 

Gaius stopped him with a hand to his chest. “Give him five minutes,” he said in an undertone. “It’s hard for him.”

“You’re not kidding.” Merlin fixed worried eyes on the gap where Arthur’s tense back had been, and put a hand to his aching chest. 

But Aithusa still wasn’t there. 

***

With all the long days and exhausted nights, time flew by. Before Merlin could blink, they were nearly finished with the studio and they were off to Cornwall for the Tintagel Festival, to film the famous climactic live show that would finish off the film. After Tintagel, Merlin’s involvement in the movie would be over.

Rather than making them stay on site in a mud-splattered caravan at Tintagel itself, the production company put cast and crew up in a comfortable but inexpensive sort of place in Launceston, with apartments divided into two bedrooms with a common area in between. The common area housed a kitchenette and sofa, with a large, flat-screen TV. 

After a long and exhausting day of filming the festival preamble near the castle, it was such a relief to shower and then sink back onto the generous pillow in his bedroom, clad only in his towel, to dry off. 

Tomorrow, while the festival was being set up, they would have a day off filming. Merlin couldn’t wait. He was planning a busy day of snoozing, snoring and perhaps reading before resuming the mayhem of their packed filming schedule on Friday. He was happily indulging this desire while flicking through the next day’s script and munching a pack of peanuts that he’d picked up from the mini bar, when there was a soft knock on his bedroom door. 

The temptation not to answer was strong. 

“Come in,” he said, though, between yawns. 

Arthur’s head poked around the door and promptly withdrew. “Jesus, Merlin, don’t you own any clothes?” he yelled from the other side of the door. 

“I’m in my own bedroom!” protested Merlin. “Besides which, you’re the one who habitually wanders around the living area with no shirt on!” 

God. Watching Arthur walking around the flat with no shirt on. Merlin would miss that, after they stopped filming. In a masochistic sort of way. 

“Huh. That’s different. You’re clad only in something that could fall off any minute” Arthur edged through the door again, determinedly gazing at the ceiling. “Anyway. You need to get ready. We’re going out.”

“You might be,” said Merlin, crunching on a peanut. “I’m not.” 

“Yes you are! You’ve got the day off tomorrow.” Arthur stood in the doorway, pink-cheeked and fluffy haired, gaze firmly glued to the light fittings like a saint looking to the heavens for guidance. 

“Oh for heaven’s sake. Could you be more bossy and entitled?” grumbled Merlin. He waved a lazy hand to indicate his bare torso and towel-clad midriff. “Do I look dressed for going out?” He threw a handful of nuts into his mouth and lay there, crunching.

“Well, for all I know, you might be, _Mer_lin,” drawled Arthur, glancing at Merlin before looking hurriedly away again. “I don’t know what kind of pub attire you go in for in whatever unpronounceable Cornish backwater you hail from. For all I know, the hotel towel-based miniskirt look is the height of fashion in Poldark’s Crotch or wherever it is you hail from…” 

“Polperro.” Swallowing his nuts, Merlin shook his head. “God, you Londoners can be insufferable about Cornish place names, sometimes. And I don’t come from there! I was born in Wales but I grew up in a tiny village called Ealdor. I just worked in Polperro for a year before I came to London and got this job...” 

“Ealdor?” There must have been something terribly interesting about the door handle, from the way that Arthur was admiring it. “Isn’t that just down the road from here?” 

“I know. All of which means that I’m not excited about going to some god-forsaken pub in Launceston with a high probability of bumping into one of my old school friends, or worse, one of the old school bullies!” 

Or my mother, for that matter, he thought with an inward grimace. He loved his mum, but he really did not know how to tell her what this current job entailed. Part of him was half-hoping she’d have learned by now, so that he wouldn’t have to tell her himself. 

“Don’t be silly.” Dropping his hand from the doorknob, Arthur turned his back and stepped over to the desk, affording Merlin a view of a neat pair of buttocks tucked away in some well-fitting jeans. He picked up a blank piece of paper, turning it over and over through the fingers of one hand, adding, with a glance over one shoulder, “we won’t be going to some low class dive. Morgana has booked it!” 

“Well, that reassures me not one iota!” Merlin propped himself up on one elbow for a better view of Arthur’s bum. God, he could write poems about those glutes. 

“Anyway, you’ve got to come. Everyone will be there, plus Gaius is buying.” Arthur peeped back at him and then looked quickly away, swallowing. “Good God. Can’t you cover yourself up?”

“Fine.” Merlin barked out a laugh, although he couldn’t help swallowing a pang of disappointment that Arthur evidently found his near-naked torso so unappealing to look at. “I’ll get dressed, Mr Bossypants. I can tell you’re not going to leave me alone, plus, I can’t miss the opportunity to spend Gaius’s money, can I?”

“There you go!” 

But he hoped he would not regret this decision in the morning. As they descended on a friendly-looking establishment with a sign outside that proclaimed “The Rising Sun. Try our award winning beer’s”, Merlin couldn’t help reflecting on the disastrous consequences that had arisen last time he’d allowed himself to drink alcohol in any quantity.

Resolving to stick to one or two pints only, he followed the others across the threshold. Whereupon, Gwaine immediately pressed a brimming glass into his hand with a wink. 

“Try this, mate,” he said. “It’s fiendish.” 

“Not too strong, I hope. I’ve got plans for tomorrow, and I don’t want a headache.” Okay so his plans largely consisted of being as idle as possible, but Gwaine didn’t need to know that. 

He took a tentative sip. The brew tasted innocuous enough, but he was under no illusions. There was a karaoke machine in the corner of the bar, and even though at the moment it was dark and silent, Merlin knew what that meant. 

Things were going to get messy. 

The worst thing about it was that after a few more sips of whatever-it-was, he found that he didn’t really care. And why should he? At the moment, they were a bunch of young, mostly unknown actors in a little known pub out in the wilds of not-quite-Dartmoor, singing Karaoke and drinking. No paparazzi, no glamour, and above all no bullies. Merlin found himself relaxing as he stepped up to the mic to sing _Defeating the Afanc_, and the two heavily tattooed locals who were watching even clapped. 

“That was brilliant,” said Gwen as he returned to his seat. She clapped. “Bravo! Morgana, your turn! 

“Morgana can sing?” said Merlin.

“She’s terrible,” said Arthur, who was sprawled on his chair with his arms draped over the back and one leg crossed over the other at the ankle. “Sounds like a buzz saw.” 

“Oh, don’t be such a cranky old grouch.” Gwen punched his arm. “She sings beautifully, as well you know.”

“Who’s her girlfriend?” Merlin nodded at the girl with Morgana. 

“Fiancee, actually. Elena.” Arthur grinned, as Morgana launched into “I got you babe,” while she gazed adoringly into her fiancee’s eyes. “She’s an old family friend. Father wanted me to marry her, actually. Got a hell of a shock when Morgana told him she’d proposed to Elena instead!” 

“I can imagine!” 

“Yeah, and even more of a shock when Morgana’s half-sister then turned up at the engagement party with their mum... My step-mum tried to throw them out. Police were called. Then Gorlois, that’s Morgana’s dad, or at least she thought he was, before she found out that my father was actually her father, anyway, he turned up in a helicopter...” 

“Your family are very complicated,” said Merlin, trying to figure out all the relationships. “Your step mum - that would be Katrina, right? And Morgana’s mum is Vivian? The Tintagel Festival organiser, right? Then there was your actual mum...” 

“Doesn’t everybody have three mums and two dads?” Arthur shrugged.

“What, all at the same time? You’ve got to admit that’s unusual,” said Merlin. 

“Well, one of them is dead.” 

In retrospect, Merlin should have shut up then, but he always had been persistent when curious, and Arthur was being so open tonight that he thought it would be all right. 

“True. About that, though.” he said, smiling, “I’m still a bit curious about why they made you made you audition for the part of your dad. I’d have thought they would want you straight off for the part.” 

He realised his mistake when Arthur stilled and a line appeared on his forehead. Shit.

“Not that it’s any of my business, of course,” Merlin added, thinking fast. “I mean, what do I know? All I ever knew of my own father was a badly carved dragon.” 

He bit his lip, wishing he could take it all back, especially the part about the dragon, because this conversation was awkward enough already, without unleashing his emotional baggage into the mix. 

Arthur’s frown softened. “My father has always said that we need to prove ourselves to get on, rather than coasting on the tails of our family’s success, and I respect that.” 

He had a way of tilting one side of his mouth up while he talked, to show amusement. The expression pressed his eyes into almond shapes and highlighted the rugged line of his jaw. 

Merlin swallowed and nodded. He could happily sit there, mesmerised, and watch for hours while Arthur talked.

“Since Mother died,” Arthur went on, “Father has been very insistent that we need to be resilient, that we need to be able to stand on our own two feet. And anyway, every family’s complicated, isn’t it? I mean, unrealistic expectations… and difficult situations with exes and long-lost half-sisters and parents who turn out to be step parents? I can’t be the only one, surely?” 

“I’ve got an absent brother,” said Gwen. She frowned at her vodka and cranberry. “Does that count?” 

“Absent how?” Arthur put his half-full pint down on the table and leaned back, jiggling his knee. 

She shrugged. “He’s opened up a community in Ghana for African returnees… you know, African diaspora who want to come and set up businesses in Accra.” 

“That sounds like a pretty cool thing to do,” said Merlin. 

“Yeah, and Ghana is gorgeous. I went out there on holiday last year. But I miss him, you know? Especially now that Dad...” she bit her lip.

“Are your family from Ghana?” said Merlin. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“No. Croydon, actually!” She laughed. “Well, maybe, originally. My grandparents came here from Guyana, but we don’t know where they came from before that. No, Elyan… He just... likes it there. Loves living in Africa, you know?” 

“I’d love to know more,” said Merlin. “Just tell me to shut up if I’m being insensitive.” 

“Don’t be daft.” She smiled, a kind and sweet smile that softened her eyes. “I love talking about my family. And you’re lovely. To talk to, I mean.” 

“I’m lovely, too,” protested Arthur. 

“No you’re not. You’re a prat, and a competitive bastard, and a bossyboots.” Merlin responded. “And you’re manspreading.” 

“I am not!” But Arthur put his legs together. “You’re deflecting to avoid telling us anything else about your family.” 

“Me? Mine’s very simple.” Merlin shrugged. “There’s only ever been me and my mum, since forever. I never knew my dad, so.” He took a sip of his beer. 

“Your mum must be a saint.” 

“Hardly.” Merlin snorted. “Unless saints swear like navvies when their innocent little children make a teency eency mistake with the cat flap that results in a late-night escapade with the fire brigade and next-door neighbour’s apple tree...” 

“I’m sensing that there’s a long story in there somewhere!” 

“Yeah.” Merlin chuckled. “I warned the stupid cat not to climb that tree, but did he listen?”

“Only got himself to blame,” nodded Arthur. “Dumb feline. I can see that.”

“So, anyway. I guess there must have been a Da, somewhere along the line. But I don’t know who he was, and if I ever met him I don’t know if I’d hug him or hit him. Because he’s my Da, you know? But he abandoned my mum before I was even born. I don’t know how I feel about that.” 

_“I got you, babe!” _sang Elena and Morgana in harmony, finishing the song. 

There was a smattering of applause around the pub as Elena and Morgana took their bows. Merlin and Gwen clapped with enthusiasm and hooted, but Arthur just rolled his eyes. Morgana stuck her tongue out at him and clomped off to the bar.

Just then, the pub door opened, making an old-fashioned bell tinkle somewhere. In strode two men; one tall and hairy with thick brows and grey hairs in his beard, the other a handsome man with an intimidating frown and commanding presence to him.

The pub fell silent, before a murmur went up from the patrons who were nothing to do with the film.

“Father!” Arthur pushed himself to his feet. “And Balinor. I wasn’t expecting…” 

“Arthur. We’ve just dropped in to see how things are going,” interrupted Uther in that silky voice of his. “Just pretend we’re not here.” 


	7. Chapter 7

Pretend they were not there? As if that were possible, with two such instantly recognisable celebrities reunited in public for the first time in fifteen years. Audible whispers went up around the pub. 

From his vantage point behind Arthur—who was greeting his father with an awkward half-handshake, half-hug—Merlin eyed Balinor warily. After studying Balinor’s mannerisms and modes of speech for so long, watching and rewatching hours of old footage, Merlin felt as if he knew the man inside out. And yet, here they were, essentially strangers to one another. 

On an impulse, he stepped forward to hold out a hand for Balinor to shake. “I’m Merlin.” 

“Aye, I remember you from the audition.” Balinor didn’t return Merlin’s smile, but he didn’t seem unfriendly, just… guarded. And a bit sad. But he took Merlin’s hand and shook it, which Merlin took as a positive. 

At that moment, an audible click indicated that one of the bar’s customers had taken a photograph of their handshake on their phone. Without thinking, Merlin flinched, withdrawing his hand. Shit. The cat would be out of the bag, now. Merlin would have to tell his mum about the film, tonight, or there would be hell to pay.

Balinor looked around the room, hands on hips, a study in nonchalance. “Haven’t been in this pub for twenty years. Weird.” 

He must be used to all the media attention, Merlin supposed. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” Not sure what to do with his hands now, Merlin ended up shoving them into his pockets and whistling between his teeth in an effort to disguise the fact that his heart was scudding about in his chest like a caged animal. He didn’t know where to look, so he settled on staring up at the fake horse brasses that decorated the exposed oak beams on the ceiling. “Nice decor. Nice, um. Brass things. On the ceiling. And pictures. Nice... um... beer. Do you like beer? I like beer. Although not too much, obviously. Haha.” 

He winced. God. No-one had warned him how excruciating this moment would be. He’d been pretending to be this man, for weeks and weeks now. Weeks of impersonating his mannerisms, and reproducing, sometimes up to forty times a day, the most intimate moments from his life. 

Balinor didn’t seem inclined to answer Merlin’s clumsy attempts to initiate a conversation, so they just stood there, hands in pockets, staring at the ceiling, while Merlin wished he could teleport to a distant location, preferably in the Arctic or at least somewhere with lots of glaciers to cool his burning cheeks.

Luckily, at that point Gaius arrived.

“Ah, Uther and Balinor! There you both are at last. I see you’ve met your doppelgangers, haha! You should see Merlin with the beard, Balinor. He’s really very good. And his voice of course. Splendid. Well, let’s get some drinks in, shall we? Still on the orange juice, Balinor? Good, good. Uther, a single malt for you. Merlin, my boy, I see you’ve been on the beer already. Let me refill your glass.” 

He bustled around the two new arrivals with a gin-fuelled bonhomie and joviality that went a long way towards dispelling the awkward atmosphere. 

“Perhaps you could help me carry the drinks?” he said to Merlin. 

“Oh, God, yes of course,” said Merlin, tripping over his feet in his haste to escape. 

*

“Go on, Merlin, stop being such a coward.” Morgana thrust his phone back into his hand. “Phone her.”

He stared at it. The green _call _icon stared back. “She won’t like it, you know.” 

Above their heads, an owl hooted. It sounded as if it was agreeing with him. 

He’d come out for some air, with Morgana, Elena and Gwen, and ended up confiding in them about his predicament with telling his mum about his role. It was pleasantly cool outside after the swampy atmosphere of the pub, so they were lingering under the wan street-lights where the smokers normally stood. The street was quiet at the moment, though, and they had the spot to themselves. 

“Go on, Merlin,” Gwen said, with a lopsided smile. “Just get it over with. I’m sure it won’t be that bad.” 

He let out a short, bitter laugh and kicked his heel back against the base of the wall before leaning on it. It felt cool on his back. “That’s what you think.” 

“It’s just a rock band,” Elena said. “Surely she can’t hate them that much! I mean, Ygraine was brilliant, right? Any self respecting feminist has to approve of a woman drummer...”

“Huh. You’d think.” Merlin turned the phone over and over in his hand. “And yet, when I bought the _Cave of the Afanc_ album on CD, you know, when they re-released it for their fifteen year anniversary, she, my mum, that is, not Ygraine, haha, I didn’t know her, obviously, anyway, where was I? Shut me up, I talk too much when I’m drunk…” 

“You’re doing fine,” purred Morgana. “Do carry on.” 

“Oh, yes. My mum cracked it into pieces and strung it up on wire, the CD I mean. To frighten the birds off our vegetable patch. And told me if I ever paid any more money for anything that would line the pockets of that, and I quote, _talentless bunch of mangy no-hopers_, she would disown me.” 

“She was just being melodramatic.” Gwen laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure she wouldn’t disown you!” 

“She’ll yell at me.” Merlin pouted. “She’s scary when she yells.”

Elena laughed. “No way is she scarier than my dad!”

“You’d be surprised. I mean, you know that scene in Harry Potter when Ron’s mum sends him a howler? Imagine that, but a hundred times worse, and that’s my mum in full flight. But the worst thing isn’t the yelling, it’s the guilt. And the disappointment. Those are the two worst things. And the sadness. The three worst things…”

“No-one expects the Spanish Inquisition,” murmured Morgana. 

Merlin ignored her. “Three worst things! Plus, the retaliatory over-sharing...” 

“Now _you’re _being melodramatic!” Morgana said. 

“Oh yeah?” Merlin shook his head sadly. “You wouldn’t say that if _your_ mum was a sexual health nurse. Do you know how many sexually transmitted diseases you can get from unprotected anal sex? Well, I do - I could recite them all in alphabetical order by the age of fourteen...” 

“Your mum sounds like an absolute hoot!” Elena’s eyes were round. 

“I know! So, anyway. I hate making her sad.” Merlin pouted. “That’s probably the main issue here.”

“In that case, imagine what she’ll feel like if she finds out before you tell her!” Gwen raised her eyebrows. 

Shit. They stared at each other for a long minute while Merlin warred with himself. 

Merlin dropped eye contact first. 

“God, I hate it when you’re right.” Before he could chicken out again, he pressed the green button and put the phone to his ear. 

After what seemed like about fifteen years, there was finally an answer. 

“Merlin?” His mum sounded tired. “Is everything all right? It’s frightfully late!” 

“Mum! Hi I’m fine, honest! I just wanted to tell you something. It’s not a bad thing, I promise.”

“Oh, God. You’ve not got some girl pregnant, have you?” 

“Ha! Still gay, remember!” 

She chuckled. “Some boy, then?” 

“Mum!” He rolled his eyes.

“That’s better. Now get it off your chest, boy. I haven’t heard you this nervous since you told me you’d shagged our William on Halloween and I gave you the condoms! You haven’t got an STD have you?” 

“Mum!” God, he hoped the others couldn’t hear what his mum was saying. 

“Don’t forget to use protection, even for rimming. Shigella rates are on the rise, you know, love…” 

“MUM!” Mortified, Merlin looked to the heavens for guidance, but although the half-moon peeped out at him from behind a cloud, it offered little in the way of advice. “I’m trying to tell you something, stop teasing me!”

“Go on then!” his mother yawned. “It’s past my bedtime.”

“No, don’t… anyway… It’s a good thing, mum. Honestly, I think you’ll be happy to hear about it, I’ve got… well, you know I said I’d be working near here? Well, it turns out I’ve been to Clearwater Caves, isn’t that funny? Because I know you said you went there, years ago, and that you went to the Tintagel Festival with some guy afterwards, and I thought of you, because we're just about to start filming at Tintagel Festival...” 

“Get on with it!” hissed Elena, nudging him with a vigorous elbow, energised by copious quantities of vodka and cranberry. 

“Ow!” he protested. 

“Are you all right, dear?” 

“Yes, mum, I’m fine. It’s my friends, they’re being silly. Ow! Stop it Elena! All right! I’m going to tell her!” 

Ignoring him, Morgana snatched the phone. “Hello, Merlin’s mum. My name’s Morgana. Morgana Pendragon. Yes, that’s right, Uther’s daughter. For my sins. Hello.” She turned rapidly away to avoid his lunge, holding the phone to her ear while fending him off with her spare arm length. “I’m working with Merlin. He wants to tell you that he’s going to be in a movie about The Dragonlords…” 

“No!” Merlin lunged again, and nearly got the phone, but at the last minute Morgana lobbed it over his head at Elena who caught it and waved it at him. 

“Stop it! No! No, all of you, no! Don’t do this! I thought you were my friends!” He went for the phone again. But just as he got close, Elena chucked it to Gwen. “You bastards!”

“He’s really good!” Morgana yelled over Gwen’s shoulder, “He’s going to be playing Balinor!”

“Balinor!” The shriek was loud enough for Merlin to hear it, even though his phone was a good three metres away. “Merlin Ambrosius Taliesin Wyllt, what did I tell you about…”

“Oh, God! Stop it!” Merlin made another grab for the phone, with his mother’s tirade still blasting out of it, but Gwen danced out of his reach and tossed it towards Elena… who fumbled it. 

It teetered on her fingertips while she flailed, at which point it fell into a puddle.

“Oops!” Gwen’s hand flew up to her mouth. “Oh, no, Merlin, I’m sorry!” 

“Shit!” said Elena. “Fuck. Piss. Sorry, mate.”

“Taliesin!” Morgana doubled over with laughter. “Oh, man, your mother gave you that middle name?” 

“It’s a family name,” said Merlin indignantly. 

“I really am sorry.” Gwen looked ready to cry. 

“It’s okay.” Merlin sighed, all fight leaving him as he exhaled. He bent to pick it up. The screen was completely black, and covered in a maze of spidery cracks. Which was awful, obviously, but at least on the plus side he could truthfully tell his mother that he couldn’t call her back because his phone was broken. “I needed a new phone anyway. Buy me another drink or ten and we’ll be quits.” 

***

When they trooped back into the pub, things had degenerated. Sefa was snogging Leon in one corner; Daegal was snogging Percival against the juke-box. Meanwhile, a shirtless Gwaine was writhing around the microphone as he sang _“I’m too sexy for my shirt”_. Arthur and several of the crew were pretending to be a backing band, and seemed to be doing some kind of shirt-based strip tease. Arthur’s shirt had also come off, revealing a sprinkling of golden chest hair and a muscular waist that was very much to Merlin’s liking. 

While Gwen and Elena went off to the Ladies, a pink-cheeked Gaius waved at them from the table where he was sitting with Uther and Balinor, nursing their drinks in comparative peace, although something about Uther’s thunderous expression as he watched Arthur’s increasingly absurd antics made Merlin shiver. 

“Ah, there you are, dear boy,” Gaius said, as they approached. “I was just telling Balinor and Uther here how you and Arthur sounded together this morning. It was magnificent, dear boy. Magnificent! Even better than the original track, I dare say.” 

“Er, thank you, sir…” Merlin said, eyes still glued on Arthur, who had grabbed the mic off Gwaine and was rotating his hips in a suggestive way. 

“Put your eyes back in, Merlin, they’re on stalks,” said Morgana with a smirk. 

Muttering something under his breath, Uther pressed his lips together and slammed his half-full whisky down on the table before stalking off towards the Gents’ toilets. 

“What’s got into him?” Merlin frowned at Uther’s back. 

“I think it’s safe to say that our father has not yet come to terms with Arthur’s sexuality,” said Morgana, eyes looking even more luminous than usual. “It took him about a year before he would speak to me after I told him about Elena. He’s even more invested in Arthur producing grandchildren for him. You’d think someone who regularly hob-nobs with Elton and David would be more accepting, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh.” Merlin blinked at his empty glass. Poor Arthur. 

“Drink?” added Morgana, fumbling in her bag. “I’ll get this one, as it was my fault your phone broke. Damn. Where’s my purse?”

After a few moments of increasingly agitated rummaging, she started to empty everything onto the table in front of her. “Help me, Merlin. I need your eyes, I’m as blind as a bat without my contacts in.” 

“What are we looking for, exactly?” With regret, Merlin tore his gaze away from the thrilling sight of Arthur’s bare torso as the song reached its climactic chords. 

“It’s a small credit card wallet!” said Morgana. “I know it’s in here somewhere.” 

As she discharged her bag’s contents onto the table, an eclectic mound of lipstick, eye-shadow, lipgloss, discarded contact lens packaging, mints, and packets of tissue emerged, one item at a time, followed by an assortment of keys, store cards, room key cards, a small black notebook, about ten pens, a mobile phone, a sewing kit…

At which point, Arthur bounced over, a huge grin on his face, as he shrugged his T-shirt back on. Merlin couldn’t help feeling a bit sad as all that glorious pink-gold flesh disappeared beneath the thin fabric. 

“What are we all looking for?” said Arthur, poking at the heap of stuff. “Morgana’s vibrator?”

“Shut up, Arthur,” said Morgana without stopping her search.

“Did someone say vibrator?” said Gwaine, pushing past Merlin. 

“Don’t be disgusting.” Morgana narrowed her eyes into terrifying slits. 

“I wouldn’t look too hard in there, if I were you,” confided Arthur as Merlin picked up a pink nail varnish bottle. 

“It can’t be any worse than my mother’s handbag.” Merlin snorted. “She carries around a wooden replica penis to demonstrate how to put condoms on.” 

“Your mother sounds amazing,” said Morgana. 

“Really? It’s not such fun when she gets it out for a demonstration when your friends come round to play video games, I can tell you.” 

“That would be traumatic, I allow,” said Arthur. “Besides which, do take care. This is Morgana. She’s probably got poisons in there, not to mention the handcuffs…”

“I said, shut _up_, little brother.” Morgana said, looking up from her bag. “I need my wallet if you must know. It’s in here, I know it is…” 

Arthur snorted. “If you will insist on carrying every single one of your possessions around with you everywhere…” But he started sorting through things, pulling out a mini-pack of Maltesers with a gleeful shout. “Result! These are my favourites!”

“Give me those.” Morgana snatched the red packet back and glared. 

“How the hell do you get so much stuff in one small bag?” said Balinor, peering curiously at the heap and gingerly setting some lipstick-stained tissues to one side. 

“I never reveal my secrets,” she said, loftily. “For heaven’s sake, it’s got to be here!” Finally, exasperated, she gave up and simply upended the whole thing. An assortment of fluff-covered items cascaded onto the table. “No, not in there, that’s what I keep tampons in.”

“Oh.” Flushing, Merlin dropped the little vanity bag as if it had burned him. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You gay boys are so precious about vaginas. As if you didn’t emerge from one in the first place. Your mum’s a sexual health professional. Surely you should have grown a pair by now?” 

Chastened, Merlin resumed his quest for the missing card case, while Arthur sorted through the debris that had fallen on the floor. Meanwhile, Balinor sat back and put his crossed, booted feet up. He looked the picture of relaxation until Morgana fixed him with a glare that made him sit up straight and put his feet on the floor. 

Morgana could be a bit terrifying, to be honest. 

“Stop gawking, Balinor,” she hissed. “Make yourself useful. Check for anything that’s got stuck.” She thrust the bag at him.

“Right you are, ma’am!” said Balinor, squinting into its depths. 

“Found it!” Triumphant, Merlin pounced on a small, oblong card case. 

“Oh, well done!” squealed Morgana. She grabbed it from him, and was about to go dancing off to the bar when Balinor caught her arm.

“Hey!” he said. “Where did you get this?” He held something small up between thumb and forefinger

It was a carved wooden dragon. Merlin’s heart leapt into his mouth.

Aithusa!


	8. Chapter 8

Aithusa! Morgana must have found her after the audition.

Had she been there ever since? Dumbfounded, not to mention euphoric at finding his keepsake, Merlin gazed at the little dragon for a moment or two. He was about to reach out to ask for her, when he finally registered what Balinor was saying. 

“...carved this little dragon, for a girl I fell in love with, years ago, and I swear!...” Balinor looked on the dragon with eyes round with awe. “I mean, it’s not much, but I would recognise the design anywhere! Took me ages, with my Swiss army knife. God! I would have loved to see her again, but events got kind of out of control, you know? And I wasn’t clean yet… and our manager… you know, before he died of that overdose… well, what with one thing and another, I never saw her again. Probably just as well, for her sake. I was a mess, back then.” He shook his head and his eyes adopted a faraway expression. “Met her near those caves we filmed at. What were they called again?”

“Clearwater?” said Morgana, obligingly. 

“That’s it!” Balinor snapped his fingers. “Lovely girl. Pretty as anything, with a temper on her to die for. She came to Tintagel with me! God, she was gorgeous. I went back to her house, a year later, but she’d moved away to Cornwall, they said. I wonder what she’s doing now? Probably married, hope she found someone good enough for her. ” 

Merlin’s jaw dropped open and he pointed a shaky finger at Balinor. “That’s… You...” 

“Wow,” said Morgana. “That’s fucked up.” 

“Yeah. Where did you find the dragon?” 

“Oh, I found it,” said Morgana. “On the stage at the auditions. Funny how things work out, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah, weird,” said Balinor, adding before Merlin could do anything to stop him, “would you mind if I keep it? Purely sentimental value, you know.” 

“Of course not.” Morgana flashed him a bright smile, and held out an arm. “In return, perhaps you would come and help me at the bar?” 

“It will be my pleasure.” Balinor linked his arm through hers. 

Merlin blinked, and watched them disappear, mind churning. 

It was definitely Aithusa. Morgana must have picked her up after he’d lost her at the audition. But… that meant that Balinor... Balinor made the dragon? But surely, that couldn’t be right, because his mum told him that it had been given to her by his father, but… how could that be Balinor? Did someone find it and give it to his mum? Or could it be? No. Surely not. The woman that Balinor met, while they were filming the video for _Defeating the Afanc_… and then she’d gone to Tintagel with him… surely it couldn’t be… but that would mean… Balinor was… 

Balinor was his father!

Merlin’s throat seized up and he started to shake. Oh, God. All that hostility his mother had towards rock stars in general and to The Dragonlords in particular started to make horrible sense. God. How must she be feeling about him starring in the bloody biopic now? As _Balinor?_

As his carefully constructed world view came crashing down around his ears, all he knew was that he had to _think,_ and he had to do it now. But, he couldn’t think, not now, after all the alcohol that he’d been drinking, and he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t speak. His throat worked with the effort and he put his face in his hands. 

“Merlin?” A second later there was a warm hand at his elbow and a quiet voice in his ear. “You look how I feel. All right. Let’s get you away from here.” The hand tugged him away from Uther and Gaius’s curious glances and towards the door. “Breathe, Merlin. Just take a deep breath now. We’re getting you outside, okay?” 

His heart beating like a herd of stampeding horses, Merlin licked his lips and tried to speak, but all that came out was a trembly “Arthur?” 

“Shh. It’s all right. I’ve got you. Just keep breathing. In and out now, steady does it.” 

Relieved, Merlin let wobbly legs take him towards the door, steadied by the line of Arthur’s arm, strong and hot against his back. Faces loomed at them. He flinched away. 

“Where are you off to?” Gwaine leered. “Minxes!”

“Don’t be disgusting. Merlin’s a lightweight, and he’s had a bit too much to drink, that’s all!” Arthur said. “Going to take him back to the hotel before some dirty bastard propositions him, and yes, I do mean you, Gwaine.” There was a note of menace in his voice that made Gwaine back away, hands lifted in mock surrender. 

“But I’m…” protested Merlin. 

“Shh, idiot,” muttered Arthur in his ear. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Just pretend you’re about to throw up or something.” 

Throw up? It wouldn’t take much for that to be true. Merlin looked round at the sea of curious faces and shuddered. 

Arthur’s mouth narrowed to a thin, determined line. “Let me handle this. You know what gossip’s like on set. If you’re going to have a breakdown, it’s best not to do it in front of everyone. You don’t want that lot picking over your personal life at a time like this, do you?” 

Personal life? So Arthur _knew_? But how? And how much did he know? 

Merlin tried to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other rather than thinking about how natural it felt to let Arthur take charge. 

***

Luckily, the hotel was not far away from the pub. When they got back, he was a lot more sober but still horribly confused about what had just happened. He sat with his head in his hands, trying to make sense of it all. 

“Drink some water.” Arthur thrust a pint glass towards him. “You look like you need it.” 

“Stop being nice.” Merlin took the glass. “It feels weird.” 

“Hey, Merlin, you ungrateful peasant, shut up and drink this vile potion and for God’s sake, cheer up. Your face looks like the back end of a cat.” 

Merlin huffed out a wry laugh. 

“That’s better.” With a lopsided smile, Arthur sat next to him and picked up the TV remote control. 

“You don’t have to stay with me,” said Merlin, who really didn’t want company right now. “You were having fun. Go back!”

“Anyone would think you were trying to get rid of me.” 

“Maybe I am.” 

But Merlin’s feeble protest fell on deaf ears. Pointing the remote at the TV, Arthur looped through a few channels, before settling on a late-night comedy show on Channel Four. 

“I’ve been thinking,” said Merlin, while the comedian disclosed something fishy about their personal life that had the audience in stitches. 

“Well that explains a lot.” Arthur shook his head. “You know how bad that is for you.” 

“Shut up.” Merlin bashed Arthur’s arm, but he smiled as well and settled back on the sofa to watch the show. 

“Want to talk about it?” said Arthur, when the next act came on. 

“Not really.” Merlin took a sip of his water.

“Fine.” 

They sat in silence for a while before Merlin spoke. 

“I think. I think…” He swallowed, staring at Arthur’s left ear for a moment before adding. “I think I need to leave the production.” 

“What?” Arthur’s head whipped round and he stared. “No way. You can’t. We’re going to play Tintagel! You’ve been looking forward to it for ages! I refuse to let you.” 

“Oh? How are you going to prevent me? You can’t exactly tie me up and keep me in your room.” 

“No?” said Arthur, his gaze flicking down to Merlin’s lips. 

“It’s frowned upon.” Still trying to be light-hearted about it, Merlin tried and failed to smile. His lips wavered at the last minute and pulled his mouth down at the corners instead. 

God. Balinor Emrys. All these years, and Merlin had wished for a father. Yet now, today, all his wishes felt like ashes in his mouth. His tongue was thick and the water he sipped tasted sour like his regrets. How could he carry on playing this part now? Now that he knew the truth about the man who had abandoned him… 

“But, why do you have to go?” A distressed line appeared between Arthur’s eyes. “You’re brilliant as Balinor. We’ve nearly wrapped the whole project up! We’ve got great chemistry, everyone says so. And you’ve been saying all along that you can’t wait to film the bit where Balinor flies in on a dragon!” 

Balinor. Merlin flinched at the sound of his name. “I… I need time to think. I... Something’s happened and I don’t… I can’t make sense of everything. Not here, with all these people.” 

Not with the possibility of Balinor appearing on set at random times. The thought of running into him again made Merlin’s throat tighten. His eyes felt hot, so he sipped some more water, thoughts racing. Twenty years ago… the timing was about right. 

With an economic movement, he grabbed his phone off the table to find out when the _Defeating the Afanc_ video was filmed, remembering as he did so that his phone was dead. 

“Piss.” He chucked it down, eyes blurring. “Do you know exactly when they filmed _Defeating the Afanc_?” His voice was shaking now. “Any idea?” 

“Why?” Fishing his own phone out of his pocket, Arthur frowned as he jabbed at it with his finger. “July 1996, it says here.” 

“No reason.”

July… and Tintagel Festival was normally held in August… and Merlin was born in April. The timing was about right. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. His chest tightened and his throat constricted. 

He didn’t want Balinor to be his dad. He didn’t want to have been abandoned before his birth by some drug-addled, good-for-nothing rock star. No wonder his mother hated The Dragonlords. No wonder she was so over-invested in ensuring that Merlin never got some hapless girl pregnant. What must it have been like for her, raising Merlin on his own? Did she ever try to contact Balinor, to tell him about Merlin? Did she send him pictures of Merlin as a baby? Perhaps Balinor thought she was just a gold digger. The thought sent an urgent spike of anger searing through his chest

But why didn’t she tell him? 

He made a helpless, wounded noise, and gulped in some air. His eyes felt hotter, and the room was going all swimmy. For years, Merlin had fantasised about meeting his real dad, about knowing for sure who he was. He’d imagined someone heroic, the kind of strong, silent figure who would have to leave his mother because he had important work, or a mission, or maybe he had fallen ill, something, anything less mundane than… than this. This… this disappointment cut through his gut like a filleting knife and carved away some young, innocent, hopeful part of his heart forever. 

“Fuck.” He pressed his hands to his face and inhaled sharply through his nose, which was clogged with tears and regret. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fucking bastard. Or rather, that’s me, I’m the bastard, because it’s okay to get someone pregnant, but it’s a crime to be fucking born, apparently.” 

“Merlin.” A warm hand was on his arm. “Look, do you want me to call someone…?” 

“My mum.” Merlin curled into the smallest ball that he could, wrapping his arms around his legs. “I just want my mum. And I can’t even call her because I’ve broken my fucking phone.” 

“The hotel has a landline, you know, doofus. And I have a phone.” The warm hand didn’t go away. “Look, I don’t know what’s happened, Merlin. One minute you were fine, the next I knew, Balinor and Morgana were squabbling about some toy or another and you went all green around the gills. My father would tell you to man up, but… that’s never really worked for me.” 

Arthur sighed. There was a world of hurt behind that sigh that just should not have been there. 

“Arthur.” 

“Let me finish. Look, I’ve learned a few things over the years. You need help. Help I’m not equipped to give you. I… I know a good therapist. Let me go and…” 

“No!” Looking up, Merlin grabbed Arthur’s departing hand and tugged him back to the sofa. “Well, maybe. But not right now. I’m okay. I… I just… just... “ He searched Arthur’s eyes for a hint of mockery, for the pity that he dreaded to see. Finding none, he added, plaintively, “just stay with me. Please.” 

“All right.” Arthur nodded, and a half-smile tugged at his mouth. The simple gesture flooded Merlin with a giddy relief. “But use my phone to text your mum and let her know you’re okay, first.” 

***

When Merlin woke up, there was an insistent buzzing sound in one ear, and something hard jabbing into his face. He blinked at a coarse bit of fabric, and rubbed at his cheek, yawning. 

“Ow!” said the fabric. 

“Sorry.” Squinting up at Arthur, Merlin yawned and instantly regretted it as the movement sent agonising splinters shooting up into his brain. “Ow!” 

“Feeling a bit rough?” The Arthur’s-thigh pillow, or whatever it was, moved out from under Merlin’s head. “I’ll make you some tea.” 

Face landing on a flat piece of sofa, Merlin clutched at his throbbing head and swallowed, the events of the previous evening flooding back to him. Not only had he nearly thrown up all over Arthur of all people, but he’d also phoned his mum, told her he had made a movie about the bloke who’d left her as a single mum, and followed it up by telling her that he had made a scene departing from the pub when said bloke showed up and he finally found out who his father was… and that he was going to resign just as soon as he could get his arse on set. 

“Oh, God,” he moaned, burrowing his head under a sofa cushion. “I’m an idiot.” 

“No more than usual,” said Arthur from the direction of the flat’s kitchenette. There was a loud click, which signified the kettle turning itself off, and a friendly sound, as of water pouring into a mug. “As far as I can tell, you got horribly drunk on some outlandish Cornish brew, sang Karaoke for an hour, had some sort of breakdown, threatened to resign, ranted to your mother for a bit, and then fell asleep, drooling all over my trousers. Pretty good night out, all told. Now, stop hiding and drink some tea. It’ll make you feel better.” 

The cushion was tugged out of his grip when Arthur’s thighs reappeared in Merlin’s line of sight. They moved away, revealing a mug of tea on the coffee table in front of him.

Squinting, Merlin sat up, but gingerly so as not to jolt his aching head, and reached for the tea. He took a tentative sip. The liquid scalded his mouth, but in a good way, so he sipped some more. 

“That’s better.” Arthur sat down on the sofa next to him, and pointed the remote at the telly, which lapsed into blissful silence. 

“What time is it?” Merlin stretched all his limbs out. 

“About seven.” Arthur grinned. “Your hair looks amazing, by the way.” 

His hair? Patting it to gauge the extent of its ridiculousness, Merlin groaned when he discovered that it was sticking up practically vertically. He would never live this down! Plus, he’d spent most of the night drooling all over Arthur’s trousers. No wonder he had a crick in his neck and his head was pounding. 

“Ugh.” He pulled a face. “I’m drunk and hungover at the same time. Think I’ll just finish my tea and go to bed.” 

“You might want to consider a shower, first.” 

“Oh, God.” Aghast, Merlin lifted his arm and sniffed at his pit. “I must stink. Do I stink?” 

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Liar. You just did.” Merlin drank the rest of the tea so quickly that his stomach gurgled in protest. When he looked up, Arthur’s eyes were still on him. 

Arthur. Arthur, had been there for him during the crisis. He hadn’t laughed or told Merlin he was being pathetic. Instead he had listened and most of all he’d just been there when Merlin asked him to be. Bit by bit, Merlin could feel Arthur stealing little parts of his heart away, and the worst thing about it was that he didn't want him to stop. 

“Better?” 

“A bit.” Merlin let a ghost of a smile flit across his face. They locked eyes for a moment. “Thanks. For everything.” 

Still holding his gaze, Arthur moved his head incrementally closer. 

Without thinking too much, Merlin mirrored the movement, twisting his head to one side. There was a faint pounding in his ears. His lips tingled, so he licked them. 

Arthur’s eyes dipped for a second and flipped back up, holding a question. They were so blue. Like cobalt mixed with a sunny day. Almost indigo in their intensity. 

Into the silence blared the ringtone on Arthur’s phone, which was on the coffee table. Arthur turned his head to peer at the flashing writing on its screen. 

“I think it’s your mum.” 

“Shit.” Merlin’s heart plummeted. He sprang forward to grab the phone. And with that, the moment was gone.

***

When Balinor paid a visit to the set that Friday morning, hoping to watch the guys prepare for their big moment at the festival, he wasn’t expecting there to be quite so much off-screen drama going on. 

“I won’t be performing today,” said Merlin, his eyes flicking from person to person, hovering for a moment on Balinor, and then moving away. “Or ever. I’m resigning. Sorry.”

“You’re _what?_” shrieked Morgana in a voice that made the windows of the make-up trailer rattle. 

Her face was mere inches from Merlin’s. It must have been loud, but the boy stood his ground. 

“Jesus, Morgana.” Arthur clamped his hands over his ears. “Warn a man before you do the supersonic screeching, won’t you?” 

Morgana had always had a great voice on her. It reminded Balinor of his own mum, years ago. Before he got siphoned into the drugs and the chaos. 

He couldn’t help sharing Morgana’s sentiment though. He’d seen some of the uncut footage of Merlin playing him, and he was good. Amazing, even. The resemblance to Balinor’s younger self was uncanny. 

“Shut up, Arthur. This is not about you. Merlin, I do not accept your resignation.” Morgana stamped her foot. The trailer shook. “You are staying on this production and that is final.” 

“I am not.” Merlin glanced sideways at Balinor, his expressive mouth turning down in distaste. “I’m leaving. Today.” His lips folded into a mutinous line. 

“But, we’re nearly done!” pleaded Gwen. “Please stay. I don’t know what has happened, but whatever it is, I’m sure we can talk it out. What about Tintagel? And the dragon? You are perfect for the role of Balinor—” 

Merlin let out a derisive snort and crossed his arms. “No, I am _not_.” 

“Hey, hey.” Balinor lifted his hands in what he hoped would be an expression of peace. “I’m sure we can talk about this. Look, mate, I don’t know what your gripe is with me, and God knows whatever it is I’m sure I deserve it. But don’t throw this away. You’ve got a fantastic opportunity here to show the world what you can do--” 

“I said no!” yelled Merlin, glowering at Balinor from beneath furious brows. “I’m leaving this set. And as for you, I’d appreciate it if you gave me back my dragon.” 

“Your…” Puzzled, Balinor scrunched up his face. What the hell was the lad talking about? 

“My dragon! She’s carved from a pale sort of wood. I used to wear her around my neck, but the leather broke… Her name is Aithusa, and I would like to keep her as a memory of the time when I thought I might have a father with a spine.” He stalked over to Balinor, holding out one hand. “You have her with you?” 

Stunned, Balinor gaped at him for a minute before shifting his weight and reaching into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. 

“You mean?” Balinor drew out the wooden dragon that had so intrigued him at the pub. He could remember carving it, for the only woman who had ever stood up to him. “This? You claim it is yours?” 

“_She _is mine. I dropped her. At my audition.” Grabbing the toy, Merlin backed away, blinking furiously. “My mother said my father carved her. The jerk turned out to be a massive disappointment, but I’d like to keep her anyway.” 

“Your mother? But I carved… I definitely… wait!” An ugly, painful inkling was at last dawning on Balinor; one that made his heart race and his legs shake. “That means… what’s her name? how old are you?”

“She’s called Hunith. Hunith Wyllt,” yelled Merlin. “There, does that ring any bells? Did you bother finding out the names of all the girls you fucked, back then?” 

“Hunith!” whispered Balinor. A vision of a kind pair of eyes and smooth dark hair sprang into his head. “Oh, my God. She had a baby. You’re…” 

There was a knock on the trailer door. 

“That will be my cab to the station.” Merlin grabbed the handle. “Gwen, Arthur, you’re brilliant. I’m sorry to leave you in it. But this script sucks. Gwen’s right. It’s all about him and his bloody rehab, the self-absorbed prick.” He pointed a shaking finger at Balinor. “What about the real story? What about all the people that you hurt and left behind? 

But when he yanked the door open, it was not a cab driver who pushed through, but Uther, who stepped inside and looked round with a puzzled expression on his face. 

“You!” Merlin said, lip curling. 

Uther, never one to back down from a fight, narrowed his eyes and squared his jaw. 

“You’re no better than _him_,” added Merlin, prodding Uther so hard in the chest that he had to take a step backwards. “You cold-hearted, pompous tyrant. I’ve never met someone who is as unkind to their children as you. If you had an ounce of empathy you would celebrate your amazing son and daughter, not put them down at every opportunity. You make me sick.” The accusing finger wobbled away from Uther for a moment, and towards Balinor. “And as for you… You’re no father. I have no father. I grew up without one, and seeing what a rotten mess of things Uther has made, I’m glad about that. I hope you both rot in hell!” 

The door slammed closed. 

Everyone staring at one another in silence, before erupting into excited babbling. Gwen and Arthur ran out after Merlin. Morgana and Uther were screaming at each other and hurling things, while the make-up guy whose name Balinor couldn’t remember ran around picking them up again and gathering them into the safety of his apron.

But Balinor could barely take in the noise that erupted around him. He sank down onto the make-up chair and stared at himself in the mirror, mind working furiously. 

The dragon was Merlin’s. Merlin’s father had carved it. But Balinor had carved it, himself. Which could only mean one thing. A son. He had a son. That beautiful, fiery lass that he’d met, all those years ago, while he was getting over Ygraine... had been pregnant all along, and he never even knew. 

Merlin was his son. The son he had always wanted. 

And Merlin hated him.


	9. Chapter 9

“Merlin?” Scanning frantically around for Merlin’s disappearing back, Arthur scuttled down the steps and into the main VIP area of the festival, with Gwen on his heels. “Merlin! Wait!” 

“I’ll go this way,” said Gwen. Pointing to her right, she trotted off to the left. “You go that way. Quick! Don’t let him get in that cab!” 

Luckily, he hadn’t got further than a few paces before he spotted the fast retreating form of Merlin’s lopsided shoulders, and hastened to follow. “Merlin! Stop!”

He would never be able to live with himself if he didn’t try to stop Merlin from leaving the set. This film was important for all of them, but he wasn’t so oblivious to his privilege that he did not realise that he, Arthur would be fine if the film didn’t get made. There would be other opportunities in this business for Uther Pendragon’s son.

But this was Merlin’s big break, and if he blew it now, he stood very little chance of getting another like it. And while he could recover from saying unpalatable truths to someone powerful in a fit of temper—fits of temper and creative spats being two a penny in showbiz—he couldn’t afford to back out of a show at the last minute. The powerful people who bankrolled film productions did not tend to forgive actions, however well-intentioned, that cost them money. But at the same time, Merlin deserved every success. Merlin oozed sheer talent from every pore. It would be a travesty if he didn’t complete his big break because of this personal crisis.

“Merlin! Wait!” he shouted again. “Please!”

Merlin halted and turned. His battered old backpack hung from one shoulder. The rain plastered his hair to his face. With his pale skin, jet-black hair and prominent cheekbones and ears, he looked vulnerable: fey and elf-like and exquisitely beautiful.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” he said. “I hate letting you down. It’s not your fault. Nor Gwen’s. But, my mind is made up! There’s no point trying to stop me! I pretend to be… _him_.” Merlin grimaced. “Not any more. The film will have to be finished without me.” 

“Merlin, I… I can’t know how you’re feeling right now.” Arthur shook his head. “But some of the things you said… to Father and to Balinor… I don’t need you to fight my battles, Merlin.” 

“I’m sorry.” Merlin’s mouth wobbled. “I fucked up.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean. Look…” with a sigh, Arthur ran his hand through his wet hair. “I’m not saying it wasn’t nice to have someone stand up for me for a change. Especially… well. I guess you get it, don’t you? Wanting to please your father, and then finding out that he’s flawed… it’s tough.”

“It’s the worst…” Merlin swallowed, making his Adam’s apple bob up and down. Rain ran down his face in rivulets and mingled on his cheeks like teardrops. “I’m sorry, Arthur,” he repeated, in a whisper. “But I can't do this any more. The production will be better off without me. I’m just an untalented no-hoper. I’ll just drag it down.” 

“No!” said Arthur, vehemently. “I may tease you about your background, and I’ll never repeat this in public but… the fact is, Merlin.... That you’re not untalented at all. You have a natural talent but there’s more than that. You’re kind-hearted and hard-working, and deserve all the success that you want, because in a business full of fakes, you are the real thing.”

Frowning, Merlin shook his head. “I’ve burned my bridges. Your father…”

“Oh, forget about him. I can talk him round. And I’m begging you, now. I don’t matter. Just… do it for yourself. Do it for Gwen. Come back and finish this movie. Do the final concert. Please. And then...”

Arthur swallowed, and paused for a moment, trying to drag the words together to say what he really wanted. God, it was all very well for his therapist, Mithian to tell him that all he had to do was open his mouth and let the words come out. But she hadn’t grown up with Uther telling her that he had to hide his feelings to become a man. 

“And then…” He looked to the heavens for inspiration. They were weeping. How fitting. “And then, after that, you know. You never need to see them - to see any of us - ever again. If… if that’s what you want.” 

It wasn’t what Arthur wanted, but he couldn’t say so. It wouldn’t be fair. He didn’t want to put pressure on Merlin, not on his own behalf, so it was probably a good thing that his voice gave out on him. He stood there instead, while mud squelched under his trainers and kicked up to accumulate on the hems of his jeans. 

“That’s not what I want,” said Merlin, in a firmer voice, eyes flicking from one of Arthur’s to the other as if searching for something. “For my part.”

Sensing that he was making some progress, Arthur stepped closer and grasped Merlin’s hand. It was cold and wet. 

“Look. I understand you need some time to process all this. And there will be time. I promise you. There will be time after this is all over. But right now… look. Look around. You’re on the edge of glory.” 

With his free hand, Arthur gestured towards the infamous Stonehenge Stage. A sudden squall sent sheets of water sleeting across their field of view, obscuring the stage for a moment and filling the air with the sound of heavy raindrops on canvas. Just as quickly, it cleared away to reveal the spectacular backdrop and dramatic, lowering sky. 

“I don’t want glory,” said Merlin. He stared up at the stage, which was fully constructed but still bare of decoration, with technicians swarming over the scaffolding. A thin strip of blue sky emerged just above it, and the rain started to ease off. But he didn’t let go of Arthur’s hand. “I just want to be able to tell the truth. About me, about my mum… about… about _him_. And this movie… Gwen was right. It is all the glitz and the glamour, and none of the truth.” 

“I can understand that. And I think you’ve got a point. But let’s give the punters a little bit of what they want, eh?” 

Merlin shook his head. “I can’t, Arthur. I’m not lying. There is no way that I can play Balinor any more. He’s not the man I thought he was… this is not the story I want to tell. Not any more. And there’s no-one who could possibly convince me otherwise. Well, possibly one person. But I’m pretty sure she’ll have the same opinion that I have, so… Don’t look so sad Arthur. You’re an amazing actor. You’ll have another break soon, I know it.”

“That’s not the only thing bothering me.” Into the sudden silence caused by the ceasing rain, Arthur looked away, pressing his lips together to stop the words from spilling out. 

“What is it, then?” 

“It’s just…” Arthur swallowed and looked down at where their hands were knotted together. “For some reason, maybe it seems like I’ve become a big fan of… you know. Tripping over ridiculous neckerchiefs…” He looked up at Merlin under his lashes. Merlin’s lips quirked up in a half smile that lent him the courage to carry on. “And… you know. Listening to you singing in the shower with that horrible voice of yours. Really, I mean, it’s like fingernails on sandpaper.”

Merlin tilted his head on one side and a tentative smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks.”

“And maybe I’ll kind of miss those things.” There. Emboldened by Merlin’s half-smile, he’d said it. Mithian would be proud.

“Yeah, well.” Merlin’s smile widened. “I suppose, maybe I might miss kicking your privileged arse at Smash Bros on the Nintendo Switch. And stealing from your secret chocolate stash. Occasionally.”

“That was you? You bastard! I thought it was Gwen! I didn’t speak to her for ages!” Something tight loosened in Arthur’s chest. With his free hand, he punched Merlin on the shoulder. Gently, though. 

“Ow!” Merlin adopted a wounded expression that didn’t fool Arthur for one moment. “Bully!” 

“Idiot!”

“Prat!” 

They grinned at each other, Merlin’s eyes a bright, pale blue, reflecting the growing scrap of cloud-free sky from which a ray of sun was beginning to peep through. Far behind him, a rainbow arched over the teeming, muddy crowds. A tear spilled over Merlin’s lash. Arthur ached to brush it away with his finger. 

“What I’m saying is,” said Arthur, heart filling up with something warm and precious that at the same time stung worse than a wasp. “If I can’t persuade you to stay, I do understand, truly. But… keep in touch, mate. That’s all…”

“Yeah. Okay.” Merlin huffed out a shaky laugh. “You’re not so bad, I suppose. But my phone’s still dead, so…” He bit his lip. “Facebook me, I guess?” 

Heart pounding, Arthur gave in to temptation. Abruptly, he dipped forward to press his mouth to Merlin’s. At last! Though they were cold and slick with rain, Merlin’s lips were lush and full, just as he’d always imagined. Merlin responded with enthusiasm, making a groan rumble deep in Arthur’s chest as he clung to Merlin’s shoulders and let his eyes flicker closed. 

After a few moments, Merlin started to pull away. Arthur mirrored him, but with reluctance.

“What was that about?” Wild-eyed and open-mouthed, Merlin stared at him. 

“I'd have thought that was obvious!"

"But... but why now?"

"I'm Sorry, Merlin. I’ve wanted to do that for so long. I didn’t know if I’d get another chance.” 

“Arthur Pendragon. Don’t you dare apologise!” said Merlin, eyes as blue-grey and wise as the lowering sky. “Not for that, anyway.” 

Darting forward, he captured Arthur’s mouth in another hungry kiss that quite took his breath away. Several long moments later (but not enough for Arthur, who could have quite happily kept on kissing Merlin all day, rain or no rain), Merlin broke them apart again. He rested his forehead on Arthur’s and took both his hands. 

“I have to go, or I’ll miss my connection in Plymouth.” Swallowing, Merlin quirked his lips up into a dazzling smile that pushed his eyes away into upturned half-moons of delight. Releasing one hand, he touched Arthur’s bottom lip with one finger. “Our timing is terrible.” 

“Just… message me. As soon as you get a phone. And we’ll work something out. Promise?” 

“All right.” Merlin’s head dipped into a shy nod, and he blinked at Arthur through wet, black lashes. “I promise.” He started to back away, hands slipping out of Arthurs. 

“But Merlin,” Arthur gripped Merlin’s right hand tighter with his left, and pulled him back. He had to try. Just one more time. “You don’t have to go. Please stay. Not for me, but for you.” 

“I can’t. I’m sorry, Arthur.” Merlin gave Arthur’s left hand a little squeeze and let go. With that, he backed away, hitching his familiar ratty old backpack onto one shoulder. “Goodbye, Arthur.” 

As Arthur watched him trudge off into the damp crowds, one shoulder slightly dipped in a silhouette he had come to view with such affection, he couldn’t help feeling as if he had lost something precious before it had even had a chance to begin. 

***

The rain sheeted across the cliffs in thick, grey waves and the distant sea boomed as it hurled itself at the rocks. All around, people scurried for cover in gaily-covered tents rendered dark by the encroaching wet. Arriving festival-goers accessorised their merry, summertime outfits with Wellington boots to guard against the all-pervasive mud and transparent plastic ponchos to keep the rain out. Some brave souls had mud fights while others huddled under umbrellas, queuing for falafel and wraps and vegan burgers and vegetarian chili. 

A carefully guarded, cordoned off area of the field hosted an array of mostly anonymous-looking caravans, motorhomes and campervans. One hosted an intrepid broadcasting team, visiting from London. Outside this vehicle, a presenter stood under a golf umbrella, gesticulating, while a hand-held camera panned across the scene. Minor celebrities and other VIPs milled about, sipping brightly-coloured drinks.

Beyond the relative peace of the VIP area, tens of thousands of music-lovers had descended on the place, causing gridlock through much of Cornwall. Tents of every hue were being erected. A vague scent of cannabis pervaded the air. 

In other words, it was business as usual at Tintagel Festival, which sported an eclectic line-up of hipsters and indie-rockers, rappers and grime artists, all under the arching dome of the traditional changeable British weather. 

Towards one corner of the VIP area, internationally acclaimed film director, Gaius Wilson sat, muttering into his early-morning tea in the relative luxury of his van, while his second AD explained the disaster that had befallen. Somewhere among the vans, Gaius’s cast should be in wardrobe, putting the final touches to their outfits for this morning’s filming slot. But there had been a hitch.

Gaius normally loved filming on location - there was something about the challenge of unpredictable live filming that made his old bones thrill. But this was a particularly stressful one. For a start off, there would be limited chances for re-takes if the cast screwed up. And secondly, the spectacular stunt that Balinor pulled off at the original Tintagel Festival concert had needed considerable planning and forethought. Even now, so many things could go wrong that it gave him a headache just thinking about it. 

But even he could not have anticipated _this_. 

“Gone? What do you mean, he’s gone?” Gaius fixed Gwaine with his most imperious look. “Find him and bring him back immediately! We have a three hour window to get this right before Friday’s first act starts their set!”

“Sorry, Gaius.” Gwaine shrugged, serious for once. “He’s taking a cab to Bodmin Parkway, Gwen says. He’s getting the train back to London. Nothing anyone could say would stop him.” 

“Are you_ sure_?” Burying his head in his hands, Gaius gazed down at the piece of paper that summarised how much this tiny filming window was costing them. “Well, then, we might as well all pack up and go home. That boy was the linchpin of this whole production. I can film his stunt double coming in on the dragon but - well. We need Merlin to perform in front of the crowd or we might as well just set fire to all our bank accounts and be done with it.” 

Just then, the door burst open and Balinor erupted into the room, glowering. 

“You’ve got a nerve.” Gaius glared at him. “You are the one responsible for this mess.” 

“I’m sorry, man, I had no idea.” Looking a bit wild-eyed, Balinor threw his hands up in the air. “The eighties were a bit of a fog, you know?” 

“Well, by all accounts, your pigeons have come home to roost at a mighty inconvenient time.” Shaking his head, Gaius peered down at the paperwork through his reading glasses. “If Merlin’s not available to start filming at ten, we might as well kiss goodbye to our box office figures.”

“Look, Gaius, if I can talk to him, I just… I think I might be able to talk him round, you know?”

“That’s all very well,” shouted Gaius, “but I’m on a schedule!” He screwed up a piece of paper and threw it at Balinor to emphasise his words. “I have extras! Do you have any idea how difficult it is to organise a crowd of thousands?”

“I’m sorry, mate… just… give me a few hours, Gaius. To track him down and talk. That’s all. Is there any chance we can film the scene tomorrow?” 

Slumping back onto his chair with a weary sigh, Gaius looked up at Balinor above steepled fingers and did some hasty mental calculations. If they got the dragon stunt wrapped up today, and Arthur and Gwen could do the instrumental preamble… and he asked Vivian very nicely about staying on site for an additional day… maybe they could film the performance the next morning… the costs would be astronomical. Vivian would screw every last penny out of the production. But if Uther and Balinor bankrolled it, they might just have a chance.

From the way that Balinor fidgeted and squirmed under the pressure of Gaius’s gaze, he must have been feeling uncomfortable. Gaius let him suffer for a moment or two—after all, he deserved it—before relenting. 

“You have until midnight tonight to sort everything out. After that…

“Oh, God. Thanks Gaius. I promise… I… I swear I’ll do it, I—”

“_After_ that…” Gaius repeated, fixing Balinor with his sternest stare. “I’m pulling the plug.” 


	10. Chapter 10

Feet squelching through inches of soft mud, Balinor Emrys cursed the weather, the clock, the slitheriness of his smooth, leather-soled boots and most of all himself. Merlin had boarded a cab bound for Bodmin Parkway, and was planning to take a train back to London from there. And Balinor had one chance to stop him. 

He still hadn’t quite processed the fact that he had a son. A son! Full of fire and sass and with a talent that could light up the sky. And then to lose him, just as suddenly… well, it was not to be countenanced. A part of his heart that he had thought would remain forever empty suddenly held a trickle of hope that he could not bear to lose. He would pay any price, anything, to grasp that one thin chance.

He skidded past a mud-streaked trailer, panting with the effort of not falling over. Fetching up at a small but gaudily-decked caravan, he banged on the door.

“Viv? Viv?” he yelled. Water streaked through his hair. His coat would be soaked But he didn’t care. “It’s me. Balinor. Open up, Viv, darling, it’s an emergency.” 

There was a moment’s silence. Shit. Maybe this was the wrong caravan? But no, it was the same one she’d been using for years. It was always here, in the grounds of this mansion, a fixture amid the annual chaos brought by all the temporary trailers and tents and stages and vans and falafel stands. Not everyone knew who it belonged to. But the important people knew. And Morgana herself had directed him here. 

“Viv!” He banged again. “Come on, love. Please!” 

“Don’t you _darling _me.” Out peered a disapproving, heavily-made-up face, framed by a cascade of butter-blonde hair. Rose-red lips puckered around a cigarette holder. The end of the lit cigarette flared as she sucked. 

“You,” declared this vision sourly as she looked Balinor up and down. “You look like a drowning St Bernard.” She sniffed. “Smell like one, too.”

Just as Vivian du Bois had not lost any of her beauty over the years, neither had her acidity yet been neutralised. Which was probably just as well. As the organiser of one of the largest, most prestigious and longest-running rock festivals on the planet, Vivian needed nerves of steel and a temper forged from ice. 

“Vivian!” Relived, Balinor put one foot over the threshold. “Thank God. Uther told me you would be here.”

“Huh.” She grimaced. "Him."

“You’ve got to help me...” 

“Stop right there!” she shrieked. She put out one hand to his chest, arresting his progress. With the other hand, she put her cigarette to her lips, pursed her lips together and inhaled until it crackled. “I don’t want mud getting in here. And I haven’t _got to _do anything. Especially not for you or my uptight, pompous old git of an ex.” As she spoke, she exhaled. Smoke billowed out all over Balinor’s face. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Oh, come on, Viv. I’m soaked,” said Balinor, coughing away the smoke until his eyes watered. “And… *cough*... anyway, it’s not just… *cough*... for me… it’s for Arthur. And Morgana.” 

Flicking ash down the step, she narrowed steel-grey eyes. “Oh yeah? What does my daughter have to do with this.” 

“Um.” Balinor winced. “It’s complicated. I don’t have time to explain.”

“That’s your problem, you great lumbering oaf. Now go away and come back when you’ve got a brain cell lined up.” 

“No!” he said. “I mean, well. Um. Well, the fact is that... I need Gorlois’s helicopter. Like, now.”

“No,” she said promptly. She stubbed her hissing cigarette butt on the grille that had been erected next to the caravan for that purpose. “Absolutely not.” 

“I can pay.” 

“I know _that_, Balinor.” Her mouth tilted up on one side in an unimpressed sneer, and she crossed her arms, but she didn’t kick him down the steps, which he saw as an opening. “I am not interested in money. Now, piss off, there’s a love.” 

She started to turn away and the door started to close. Panicked, Balinor stopped it with one muddy boot. 

“Wait! 

The frost in the one blue, mascara-lined eye that he could still see through the remaining crack in the door was almost enough to freeze his blood. He took a step backwards.

“This had better be good,” she hissed.

“There’s… you know.” Balinor sighed heavily. This would hurt. But it was for his son! He squared his shoulders before playing his trump card. “Avalon.” He owned a beautiful, private island in the Caribbean. He had never invited Vivian to it, and he knew that she coveted a visit. “I… you could… I mean…”

Her eyes warmed and the door reopened a fraction.

“Speak.”

“Well, you could visit. Any time.”

“Don’t be stupid, Balinor,” she spat. “I’m not interested in some piddling package holiday tour. I want the island.”

“What. You want me to sell it to you?” He swallowed. 

His beautiful island. Where a jewel-like ocean lapped on white, coral sands. Sole remaining habitat for an endangered reptile, the Avalon Dragon. His sanctuary, scuba-diving among the drifting rainbow colours of the reef with the turtles and the wrasse and the barracuda… he would give it all up. All and more, for the chance to know his son. 

Besides which, the proceeds of the sale would pay for a new island, surely.

“No darling,” purred Vivian, the door wide open now, revealing the womb-like chamber behind. She beckoned. “Come. You will not sell it to me. You will _give _it to me. And then we will talk about helicopters.”

“But,” protested Balinor.

The door inched closed again. 

“Oh, all right, fine.” Balinor complied. It was no use arguing with Vivian Du Bois. He’d learned that years ago. “You can have the bloody island. But you have to promise to look after the dragons. Now please, please, please, can we use your helicopter?”

“Good boy.” She opened the door and beckoned. “All right, then. Come in while I call Gorlois and let him know. But I’m piloting the 'copter, darling, so I'll need to delegate things here to Morgause. And first… first you will take off those disgusting boots.”

Hope blooming in his heart, Balinor toed off his boots. He took a discreet look at his watch as he stepped over the threshold. By his calculations, Merlin’s train would depart from Plymouth at 12.55pm. He had just under two hours to make sure that Merlin wasn’t on it. Two hours to find his son. 

***

Humming under her breath, Hunith Wyllt turned the nose of her faithful green Fiat Cinquecento, Fred, into the staff entrance of the Cornish secondary school where she would be delivering today’s unconventional but important Biology class to a fresh batch of Year Nine boys. To be honest, she loved these school visits. It was where she thought she could really make a difference. Whenever she gazed at the upturned faces of all those young people, she knew that she was destined to prevent them from going down the wrong path, like she had years ago. Her job was not well paid, nor was it high profile, but she knew that she was making a difference. 

Which naturally turned her mind to her earlier conversation with her son. She sighed as she replayed his words. Her poor boy. She had sought to protect him from scrutiny for all these years by keeping him close and anonymous. But she ached when she thought about how it must have been for him, growing up fatherless. At some point, maybe she should have told him the truth about Balinor Emrys. She had always planned to. But the perfect moment never came. And then fate snatched that decision out of her hands. Who would have thought it? Merlin, playing his own father! It was almost as if it had been pre-ordained, and the gods were laughing at her somehow.

She had a horrible feeling that this whole situation was on the edge of exploding spectacularly, with Merlin at its epicentre. She could only hope that all her hard work in teaching him resilience and self care would bear fruit. 

Deep in thought, she snorted as she slammed shut the door of her car, mentally rehearsing the speech that she’d prepared for her lesson. But her mind kept shifting back to Balinor. 

Balinor. That priapic old goat.

Damned Balinor. So glamorous in his rock and roll persona, and yet vulnerable and scruffy behind the scenes. She had been young, oh so young, back then. And he had been handsome, and full of promises. The promises had turned to dust, as they so often do. After a few tempestuous weeks, they had argued over his drug-taking and persistent drunkenness. He had disappeared abruptly from her life, while Hunith… well, a few short weeks later, she discovered that she was pregnant and was forced by her parents to move away to have the baby. 

And she found out what happened to him eventually, of course she had. The press had gleefully recorded all of it - Ygraine’s death in childbirth, Balinor’s falling out with Uther, the suicide of their producer, the stint in rehab... all of the things that had led to Balinor's spectacular fall from grace and carefully worked-at recovery. But none of that was of any comfort to her. Why would it be? She was just another heartbroken, penniless, pregnant teenager dropping out of college - a regretful statistic on a local authority database. 

But over the years since then, she had grown strong, and was proud of the person she had become. 

It was no use thinking about water under the bridge now, though. She had an important job to do, today. This was her mission in life; to turn young people away from what had happened to her, from teenage pregnancy and the problems it brings. Not that she’d be without her Merlin now. But she had lived with the consequences of those short weeks of passion, and know only too well how one mistake, one night (or a few) without care could lead to a very different life than the one that a young person had planned for themselves. 

And it wasn’t just avoiding teen pregnancy that she could help with. This session was all about providing the youngsters with the ammunition that they needed to discuss their emotional and physical health and wellbeing, as part of a healthy adult relationship. The importance of boundaries. The importance of being kind and caring for one another. The importance of understanding how to say no, and how to respect other people’s sexual and emotional health regardless of their gender and sexuality.

She turned her steps towards the school office, and signed in as usual before making her way towards the Year Nine classroom. 

“Good morning, everyone,” she said, smiling at the room. 

Outside, the throb-throb of a helicopter engine passed overhead. Damned things, it was hard enough to deliver sexual health training to teenagers without having to shout as well. 

She raised her voice to drown out the noise. “I’m Miss Wyllt. And I’m here to talk to you about safe sex.” 

There were the usual titters. She didn’t mind. They always started off being nervous and embarrassed. Some of the boys would no doubt use the opportunity to brag and posture, even though they were only thirteen years old. Some of them would probably be sexually active already, even now. Some of them may have been abused in childhood. Well, it was her job to put them at their ease, regardless of how much life experience they had. 

“Good morning Miss Wyllt,” chorused the young people. 

She beamed at them. “Twenty years ago, I fell pregnant. I was seventeen years old. And it changed my life forever.” 

The noise of the helicopter grew even louder. One or two students looked out of the window. 

“Fu—Flippin’ ‘eck!” said one of the boys. “It’s a bleedin’ ‘elicopter, Miss!” 

“It’s a nuisance, that’s what it is.” But Hunith stepped over to the window, leaning on the cupboard by the window frame where she craned her neck to take a look at the source of the racket. 

Sure enough, a bright purple helicopter was landing on the playing field, right outside the window. The rest of the students abandoned all pretence of listening, and rushed over to join her. The throb-throb of the slowing rotor blades and whine of the engine were deafening, and the wind made the window frames rattle. 

“Of all the…” and then her speech slowed to a stop, and she watched open-mouthed as two figures stepped out of the cockpit. One of them was a blond, handsome boy that Hunith vaguely recognised from somewhere, while the other...

“Ain’t that Balinor Emrys, Miss?” said a ginger-haired boy whose name Hunith had forgotten. “What’s 'e doing here?”

“I have no idea,” she murmured faintly, heart fluttering. 

Oh, God. Surely he couldn’t be… but how did he…? No, it couldn’t possibly be anything to do with her. She tamped down a rising sense of excitement. Don’t be silly, Hunith. He’s here for an entirely unrelated reason. So what if their mutual son was playing the role of that shabby-haired, malodorous scruff-bag in some vanity project or another? Hunith would not be falling for the hairy oaf’s stupid leather trousers and stupid apologetic shrug again, oh, no. Not her. 

“Settle down, Year Nine,” she said, firmly. “Let’s talk about respect, and boundaries. Back to your chairs, please.” 

It was so important, to get the boys to open up about their emotions and to start thinking about how their actions could affect other people that they cared about. 

***

The roads around Tintagel really were not designed to hold this much traffic. 

Merlin’s taxi driver hunched over her steering wheel, muttering at the motley collection of stationary cars, camper vans with foreign number plates, caravans, microbuses, minibuses and cycles in front of them. The red glow of their tail lights refracted through the rain-soaked windscreen. It should be full daylight, but everyone had their lights on because of the grim weather, and standing water an inch deep formed a shiny layer over the tarmac. 

“What’s going on?” said Merlin, leaning forward. They’d been sitting in this queue for a good ten minutes by now. 

“It’s a nightmare, this time of year,” said the driver. She bit into an apple and added, between crunches, voice muffled by the food, “probably someone’s playing silly buggers and not letting a large vehicle through.” 

God. How long would they be stuck here? Merlin reached into his trouser pocket for his phone to get a traffic update and then remembered that it was still dead. Damn. Tension made his gut clench and his shoulders tighten. Time was slipping past. If he didn’t get to Bodmin soon, he would miss his connection in Plymouth. Now that his decision had been made, he just wanted to get back to the anonymity of his cramped London flat as soon as he could and forget that Balinor Emrys even existed. 

Screw The Dragonlords. Screw Balinor. Screw Uther and his pompous, self congratulatory script. His teeth clenched as he remembered the truculent expression on Uther’s face. Arthur deserved so much better. 

Arthur. 

Merlin’s fingers found their way to his mouth and he touched his lips, lingering there as he remembered that kiss. His pulse quickened. Part of him just wanted to wrench open the car door and jog back to Tintagel to carry on kissing Arthur, conscience be damned. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he went back to representing Balinor. It would be a gross betrayal of his own mother to ignore her story like that. 

Somewhere up ahead, there was a sudden cacophony of beeping car horns. Evidently tempers were starting to fray. A few minutes later, with some squeezing into hedgerows and further beeping, a tractor rounded the corner in the opposite direction, its huge wheels churning up the surface water and spraying it across the carriageway onto the waiting traffic. Once it inched past them, the way ahead started to clear. 

“Ah. That’ll be it. We’ll be on our way now.” The driver kicked the car back into gear. “Traffic in the other direction will be much worse, with all them hippies in their broken down cars getting in the way of all them Continentals in their huge camper vans.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “It’s the same every year! At least we’re going away from Tintagel.” 

Merlin glanced at his watch again as he sank back into his chair. The car had begun to crawl forwards, but at this rate, there was no way that he could catch his train. 

She eyed him inquisitively via her rear view mirror. “I’d have you pegged as going to the festival, love, not leaving, already. Argument with your girlfriend, or something?” 

Merlin’s heart plummeted. He just wanted to sit quiet and do something, anything, to keep his mind off things. But between the traffic and this nosy driver and his broken phone, there were no distractions. “Something like that.”

“She’s not worth it, darling.” 

“Hmm. Is there anything on the radio?” 

She twiddled the knobs and a rock channel came on. The Dragonlords were playing. “Oh, I love this one!” 

“No! Not that!” said Merlin, hastily. “Something classical, please!”

“Not a Dragonlords fan, then, love? I hear they’re doing a film about them.” 

“Huh.” Merlin snorted and pressed his mouth together to stop himself from answering. 

Shrugging, she twiddled again, finding what sounded like a classical channel. He sat back with relief, and closed his eyes, letting the sounds wash over him. 

Which was fine until the interviewer came on and said “That was an excerpt from Stravinsky’s Firebird, played by the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, and you’re listening to Desert Island Discs where I’m interviewing the acclaimed director, Gaius Wilson. Now, Gaius, you grew up on a council estate in Greenock…”

“Oh, God, no! Not him!” said Merlin, sitting up straight again. “Do you have… what about Classic FM?” 

“Fine, if you like. You must be the only person I’ve met who doesn’t like The Dragonlords, though. I saw them in concert once, years ago. They was amazing!”

God. It seemed as if everything was conspiring to keep reminding him about his dubious origins. He stared out of the car window at the cluttered street and the streaming rivulets, his thoughts mirroring the gloomy weather, and tried not to consult his watch too frequently. It was hard, though, when every minute that passed made it less and less likely that he would catch his train. 


	11. Chapter 11

Twenty minutes into her lesson, there was a knock on the door of Hunith’s classroom. Alice Collins, the deputy head teacher, peered into the room. 

“Erm… Miss Wyllt?” Curiosity was written all over the nosy old wind-bag’s face. “There is a visitor here to see you. A Mr Emrys. And he says it’s urgent.” 

“I told you!” hissed the ginger-haired boy. 

Huh. Balinor. That scrofulous, sexually incontinent dirt bag. 

“Make him wait, Mrs Collins,” Hunith said firmly, willing her treacherous heart to subside. “It is school policy not to admit visitors during lessons except during an emergency. And I have students to teach.”

“Um… he was rather insistent, I’m afraid.” Alice shrugged. “He said it was an emergency, so I thought…” 

Hunith rolled her eyes. So, school policy did not apply to irresponsible, charming old gits with a pocket full of cash and a helicopter at their disposal. Why was she not surprised? She was even less surprised when Balinor shouldered past Mrs Collins into the classroom. He never had been much of one for rules. 

He stood there with his hands in his pockets like a giant, awkward bear. “Oh! Hunith. You look… um… well, God. You haven’t changed at all, I mean… you look kind of amazing...” Extracting his hands from his pockets, he did something complicated to that wayward, greying mane of hair before leaning against the door frame. 

“What do you want?” She crossed her arms and frowned, reminding herself that this was the man who had destroyed her life. Not that she would be without Merlin, not for a second. But raising a son on her own had definitely not been what she had planned for herself, all those years ago.

“Um…” Balinor shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and his gaze flitted across the room, taking in the sea of inquisitive young faces. He pushed hair out of his face again and tthen wrung his hands. “It’s about… it’s about Merlin. He - we - I. We need your help. I… we… I mean, I obviously found out about… and I know I acted like a fool all those years ago with the drugs and all… you were right to turn your back on that, honestly I don’t blame you, but... I tried to find you but you’d moved by the time I got out of rehab, and anyway… our son, Hunith. He - we - I mean, I… well, we found out about each other and… He’s about to throw it all away.”

“Oh, I see.” Hunith put all those years of teaching unruly classrooms into her voice, projecting it without raising it, as she stalked towards him, her feet clicking on the floor. “Of course, my feelings are unimportant in this, obviously. I’m just the woman you discarded years ago to raise your son alone.” 

“Hunith! I had no idea!” Wild-eyed, Balinor shook his head violently. “I mean… If I’d known you were pregnant…”

“Oh, that makes it so much better. Okay, so you just bailed on me without warning, but running out on a seventeen year old you shagged is fine, apparently, as long as you don’t get her pregnant.” 

“That’s not what I mean at all… Wait! You were seventeen? You said you were eighteen!” 

“Then what did you mean?” she hissed. “It’s not as if you checked!” 

“Hunith, please!” He raised both hands, palms out, in a defensive gesture. “I had to leave. I mean, I was an addict! I’d have been no good for you, I had to get clean before… I mean, I was only nineteen myself and… besides which, that’s all water under the bridge, just… please listen that’s all. Not for my sake, but for Merlin’s!”

“Oh, I see! Well that’s all right then!” she continued, putting her hands hands on her hips. “That’s absolutely fine! I have to drop everything to sort out the mess you have made with my son, who incidentally is also a fully grown man who should be able to fix his own personal problems without asking his mum for help. But no, that’s okay, because I’m just a mother and my own job and life are not important. I understand!”

She was being passive aggressive, and in danger of going in to full-on rant mode, she knew she was. But she couldn’t help it. It just felt so good to let years of resentment come flooding out. 

“Right, right. I understand!” she repeated, voice rising. “I’ll just abandon my students.” Flinging out one arm, she flapped it in a melodramatic gesture towards the avidly curious young faces before returning her hand to her hip. “Just leave them here! Untaught! Upon your whim, because obviously you’re a _ man _ , and _ rich _, and therefore your needs and my adult son’s are more important than my job and these children’s entire futures. I’ll just… I’ll just get my coat, shall I?”

“No, no! It’s not like that! Just… Please!” Balinor pleaded. “Just… I know I’ve been an arse but… Can we carry on this conversation in private?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Hunith spotted at least ten students at various stages in the act of extracting mobile phones from their blazer pockets, in direct contravention of the school’s strict “no phones during class” policy. Three of them were already trained on her. 

She sighed. Although she was ordinarily happy to mine her past to help communicate the importance of safe sex as part of a healthy relationship, she really didn’t really fancy the whole mess being dredged up and broadcast to all and sundry on the internet. 

“Fine!” she said, turning back to Balinor. She wagged a disapproving finger at him. “But don’t think I’m just going to capitulate to all your pathetic pleas without some very serious discussion.” She turned to the class. “There you go, Year Nine. This is what happens when you shag someone without protection and then run away. You never know when your pigeons will come home to roost, but it sure as hell won’t be pretty. My advice to you is, if you can’t keep it in your trousers, put a bag on it!”

A ripple of nervous laughter went around the room. 

“Now, Mrs Collins will take things from here,” Hunith went on. “Won’t you Mrs Collins?” 

Alice opened her mouth as if to protest, but abruptly closed it again when Hunith glared at her. 

Grabbing her handbag with what she hoped was a dignified flourish, Hunith shoved past Balinor and out of the door, nearly stumbling into the blond lad that had come with him. Up close, the guy was even more handsome than she’d initially realised, but his designer trainers were covered in mud that had splattered up his jeans almost up to the knee. 

“Oh. Sorry,” he said, even though it was Hunith who had bumped him and not the other way round. 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Don’t be so British,” grumbled Hunith. “Now, let’s go to the staffroom. There’s a kettle in there and some half decent teabags. You’d better tell me what this is all about.” She stalked off, driven by a sudden desire for a proper cup of tea. 

“I’m really sorry, but I’m not sure we have time for a drink,” said the bloke, trotting after her. “We need to stop Merlin before it’s too late. He’s going to run away from everything, and we have to stop him today, or we won’t get the final scene filmed, and he’ll miss out on the biggest opportunity of his life.” 

She stopped in the empty corridor to face him. A row of lockers lined the wall, the familiar scent of unwashed teenager wafting over from them. 

“Merlin? What’s my son done now?” She frowned at him, trying to place his face. “Do I know you from somewhere?” 

“I’m Arthur.” He sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. A worried line appeared between his brows. “I’m… Merlin’s… friend. I suppose. And he’s resigned… he’s about to throw everything away. You have to help us, you’re the only one he’ll listen to—” 

“I told her that,” interrupted Balinor. “I said—” 

“Shhh!” said Hunith, sharply. She held up one finger and scowled at the git before continuing, in a gentler voice. “Carry on, Arthur. Arthur… not Uther’s son? The one Merlin borrowed the phone from, to call me this morning?” 

“I’m afraid so.” 

“Hmm. And why might you be so interested in Merlin’s problems?” 

“Like I said. I’m his…” Arthur swallowed and stared at his right foot, which was shuffling around as if tracing a pile of dust. A blush started low at his neck and swept up his face like a fire. “Um. Friend.”

“Ahh,” she said, with a knowing smile. “His... _ um... _ friend, is it? I see. Well, if you’re his _ um _ friend, that explains it. I do hope you’ve been _ safe _um-friends, at least.” 

“It’s not like that!” he spluttered. “At least not yet. Not that I’m intending to… Anyway. We’re not…” 

Bless. She felt her expression soften as she teased him. He was such a sweetie. Far too nice to be Uther’s son. There was a lot of Ygraine in him. She could see that, now. And he was terribly good-looking, with those bright eyes and that steely jaw of his. No wonder her Merlin had fallen for him. He’d always had a thing for boys with well-defined jawlines. 

“Well, Arthur, I suppose I can forego a tea if it’s really that urgent. You can tell me as we walk. Where are we going?” 

“Plymouth,” said Balinor. “But we don’t have a lot of time—” 

“Shh! I wasn’t talking to you, you hairy great oaf!” Hunith bit back a smile at the forlorn set of his eyebrows. They had become even more shaggy than they had been when she met him, years ago, and she had to fight an unwanted urge to smooth them with her forefinger. 

They set off again, fast approaching the school exit. Balinor and Arthur seemed to be in an awful hurry as they strode out, leaving Hunith to scamper along in their wake. Long-legged people could be so inconsiderate. They didn’t even pause to sign out, despite the best efforts of Thea, the school admin, with all her shouting and waving. 

“I’m sorry, Hunith,” said Arthur, grabbing her arm with a firm but authoritative hand. “He’s right. There’s no time to lose! The next train from Plymouth to London leaves in forty minutes, and we have to stop Merlin from getting on it. Quick! We’ve got to jump in the helicopter...” 

With an apologetic shrug to Thea, Hunith followed. It wasn’t as if she had much choice. Not with Arthur tugging at her arm like that. Plus, it all seemed rather exciting. She had always wanted to ride on a helicopter. 

Well, it seemed that today was going to be her lucky day. 

***

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the taxi was drawing into the station at Bodmin Parkway. Thanking the driver, Merlin shoved a pile of notes into her hand. He bolted out of the door and sprinted across to the ticket office. He glanced at the clock. God, he was cutting it fine. His train was due to depart in four minutes and he still didn’t have a ticket. 

There was only one ticket booth open. The queue was huge. Clenching his jaw, he joined the line. But the person at the front, a belligerent bloke in a damp-looking green football shirt, was arguing with the ticket seller, words slurring. 

“S’ bleddy near lem o’clock already,” he yelled. “I got things to do. People to meet, ‘fore the match.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said the woman in the ticket booth between clenched teeth. “Due to the inclement weather, there are speed restrictions on the line…” 

“Argio, Argio, Argio!” sang his companion, a large guy with a hairy pot belly that stuck out from beneath his green jersey. 

“Bloody Janners,” muttered the woman in front of Merlin in the queue. 

Ah. He recognised the football kit they were wearing, now. 

Janners. Plymouth Argyle fans. Drunk ones, by the look of them. 

“Ah. Match on tonight, is there?” said Merlin, wondering if he’d be able to push through the sea of green football kit to the ticket sellers, and deciding that he’d be unlikely to succeed. 

“Yeah.” The woman shook her head in disbelief while one of them fell over and started yelling at his mates. “Not one brain cell between the lot of them. Mind you, they’ve got a point.” 

“Why? What’s the problem?” said Merlin, craning his neck in his attempt to see what was going on at the front of the line. 

“Train’s delayed.”

“Oh no!” Sure enough, as he glanced up at the departure board, he saw that there were delays on all routes. “I don’t want to miss my connection in Plymouth!” 

“You and me both. I was hoping to be home in time for lunch.” 

A scuffle broke out between pot-belly guy and drunk-argument guy at the front of the line and Merlin shook his head. Would he ever manage to get home? 

***

As Arthur checked his seatbelts again, and jammed his ear protection on, he consulted his watch. Twelve thirty, already. His sense of urgency washed away, replaced by a feeling of utter hopelessness. What was the point? There was no way that they could make it in time. Despite the deft way that Vivian finalised her safety checks, Arthur just didn’t see how they could get all the way from Truro up to Plymouth in time to stop Merlin from getting on the twelve fifty-five train. And once he was on it, there was nothing they could do. 

But they had to stop him! 

Arthur had talked it over with Morgana and as far as they could tell, even if they followed and boarded the train later during its journey through the west of England, they had no guarantee that they would find Merlin on it. And once he got to Paddington, Merlin would just disappear onto the tube. Morgana had his address but… by the time the train got into London it would be too late for them to get back to Cornwall in time for Gaius’s midnight deadline, helicopter or no helicopter. 

No, there was nothing else for it. They had to stop him from getting on the train at Plymouth. But he just didn’t see how they could do it. Merlin’s incoming train from Bodmin should have arrived ages ago. He would already be waiting on the platform at Plymouth station for the London-bound service by now. 

Arthur worried at his bottom lip with his teeth, gaze drifting forward to Merlin’s mum. Hunith was watching Vivian’s hands and feet with avid interest as she busied herself with the controls. As usual, Viv had insisted on piloting Gorlois’s copter herself. 

It was quite odd to think that his and Merlin’s extended families were meeting already, even though their relationship had not yet progressed beyond one far too short kiss, despite all Hunith’s teasing. Arthur could still feel his face burn when he recalled the knowing way that she had looked at him, as if she could read all the less than chaste thoughts that he had harboured about her son. As for the way that she gave Balinor both barrels - he could see now why Merlin was nervous about telling her. At the same time, he couldn’t help comparing the pithy way that she had roasted Balinor with Merlin’s earlier tirade at both fathers. Clearly, both mother and son both had quite the talent for skewering male egos. 

“Get on with it, Viv, love,” said Balinor through their linked headsets, shifting impatiently in his seat. “We don’t have all day.” 

“Don’t you _ love _me, Balinor,” said Viv, flicking a switch that made the muffled roar of the rotor blades increase in pitch. “Do you know how to pilot this thing? No you do not. So shut up and let me get on with it.” She shoved at a lever, and tugged at another before clicking a switch and talking to the air traffic control tower. 

Eventually, the aircraft gave a little lurch and then they were off. 

“What does that lever do?” asked Hunith after a while, pointing to the handle that Viv was holding.

“This is the cyclic,” said Viv. “It controls the pitch of the blades.”

“Oh! And what about the red one?”

“That’s the fuel cutoff. Don’t touch that one…” 

“Definitely not!” Hunith laughed and lifted up both hands. “Not touching anything! How long have you been a helicopter pilot?” 

“Oh, since I got married. Gorlois has always had one, a copter I mean, but he’s a terrible pilot, and I said to him, I said, fine, I’ll marry you, you great big softie, but I’m going to pilot the helicopter from now on. And actually it’s great to have …” 

The two women chattered and the craft ascended into the drizzle. Balinor stared silently out of the window. 

Watching the school’s buildings retreat rapidly below, Arthur did his best to calm his own nerves. Would their plan work? What if Merlin got an earlier train? What if he got a bus instead? Absently chewing the nails of one hand, Arthur found himself rehearsing all the things that could possibly go wrong, and consulted his watch about fifteen times. God. They only had a few minutes left. 

“Could we go any faster?” said Balinor, echoing his thoughts. 

“Shh!” said Viv sharply. She turned her attention back to the misty skies around them. “Let me concentrate. The clouds are getting lower. If visibility gets any worse, we might have to turn round.” 

As if to punctuate her words, a sudden gust of air buffeted them, and they lurched to one side. 

“Oh, no!” Arthur groaned, feeling a bit sick as the aircraft shuddered. He’d never flown in such bad weather conditions before, but he didn’t want to turn round either. 

“Oh, yes. Now, shut up.” 

But by the time they finally landed. Exiting the craft, Arthur descended to terra firma, wobbly-legged and a bit nauseous but mostly intact, in a park next to Plymouth Station. 

Their hair blew about when Viv took the copter back up again. They would have to take the train back to Tintagel. She wasn’t able to stick around, not in this park. 

His heart sank when he checked the time again. It was well gone one o’clock. There was no point going to the station now. Merlin’s train would be long gone. 

“I should never have let him go,” he said under his breath, remembering the kiss that they’d shared. “I should have held on to him.” His lip trembled with the force of the memory and he stopped in his tracks. 

Balinor strode on ahead, not noticing his hesitation, but Hunith stayed by his side. 

“Come along,” said Hunith quietly, her eyes narrowing in concern. “We’ve come this far. Let’s go and see if we can find him, shall we? And talk him out of whatever ridiculous mess he’s got himself into.” 

“I thought you said that he was old enough to solve his own problems,” said Arthur in a wobbly sort of voice that was meant to be joking but somehow didn’t manage to be. 

“Sometimes, even adults need their mums,” said Hunith, with one hand on his shoulder. 

That comment hit home as sharply as any jibe. Arthur blinked at the sky, heart doing something wretched that he was utterly unprepared for, and wished, not for the first time, that he still had a mother. 

“Or, failing that, someone else’s will do,” she added, giving his arm a little squeeze.

“But he’ll have gone by now,” Arthur croaked, not knowing or not caring how this diminutive, sweet-faced person had managed to chip through all his defenses and expose the raw, exposed part of him that was hurting so desperately. “It’s too late.” He brushed one arm across his eyes. 

“We’ve got to try, though, haven’t we?” she said. “And then at least we can say we tried. Hmm?” She bent her head and looked up at him, kind eyed and implacable. 

“Hmm.” Arthur flashed her a tight smile.

She smiled back at him. “That’s better. Now, come on. Let’s go and get our boy.”


	12. Chapter 12

Merlin’s train from Bodmin was late, which meant he was able to catch it. Late, but hopefully still in time for him to catch his connection. He hopped from one leg to the other to keep warm before getting on, slinging his bag into the overhead locker.

Once inside, he rested his damp forehead on the steamed-up window. On a thought, he withdrew Aithusa from his pocket, passing his thumb across the smooth, worn wood of the dragon’s back. He didn’t know what he felt about her, now. She represented a lie, but he could not bring himself to let her go altogether. The leather thong that he’d worn her with was still worn through. He should probably just buy another one. She had always brought him luck, before. Perhaps that had changed now, though? Now that he was sitting down with nothing to do, he couldn’t help wondering what he would do with his life when he got back to London

“What would you do, Aithusa?” he murmured. 

But Aithusa didn’t answer. With a sigh, he put her back in his pocket and zipped it up carefully. He didn’t want to lose her again now. 

Acting and singing had always been his passion. But would he be able to get a job in the industry now, after running his mouth at Uther like that? Uther was a powerful enemy. Silently, Merlin cursed himself for not being able to keep his big gob shut. Balinor deserved to be yelled at, sure, and he didn’t regret telling his so-called father what he thought of him, but Uther… that had been a mistake. Because, whatever would he do if he couldn’t act and sing for a living? 

Had he done the right thing? It was too late to change his mind now, he supposed. But he couldn’t help feeling that Arthur would not want anything to do with him any more if he couldn’t work. He would just be a hanger on, or worse a gold digger of the worst sort. He swallowed, throat seizing up, and his eyes blurred as he touched his lip, the memory of Arthur’s mouth on his fading all too quickly.

The train seemed to take forever, but eventually it crawled into Plymouth. People poured out of the doors and milled about, some silent, some yelling, some singing football chants. Merlin trailed after them, his rucksack clinging to his still damp shoulder. He still had five minutes to spare in which to change platforms and board the connecting London service. With a heavy sigh, he scanned the departure board for information about which platform to go to. 

***

Arthur pelted into the station, footsteps squeaking on the damp floor of the concourse, looking around in a vain hope that Merlin would somehow be in view. It was a grey, depressing sort of place, all sixties brutalist architecture and grey concrete. He skidded to a halt, scanning the screens for a clue as to which platform Merlin’s train would depart from, and cursed when he realised that he couldn’t gain access to any of the platforms without a ticket. The line for a ticket window snaked out of the door, and angry people were yelling at the person at the front. 

Damn. 

Hastily he joined the queue for a machine. He fumed as he waited in line. Scrabbling in his pocket, he assembled some change to pay for a non-travelling ticket. 

As Arthur stood there, Balinor and Hunith strode together through the door. 

“What are you waiting for?” Balinor said, head turning this way and that as he scanned the ticket office. “Is he here?” 

“Need a ticket for the barriers,” said Arthur curtly. “Probably too late, though.” It was after one o’clock, and 12.55 London departure should already have left, presumably with Merlin on it. 

“Don’t give up, love.” Hunith trained sad eyes on him. 

The ticket seemed to take forever to print. Grabbing it, he dashed as fast as he could through the barriers and under the subway to the platform where the London trains departed from, heart hammering. Would Merlin be there? 

As he ran, he heard the slow, quickening rumble of a train departing. 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

“No!” he yelled, thundering up the steps two and three at a time. “Wait!” 

When he got to the platform, hundreds of people were blocking his view, having just disembarked. He pushed through them, scanning the crowd for a familiar hunched shoulder, or a scrap of black hair. But no.

It was too late. He’d missed Merlin. 

Despair crashed over him. After all that - the frantic helicopter dash through the storm, gathering Merlin’s mother, persuading her to come with them - he had failed. Gritting his teeth, he pressed his knuckles into his eyes. 

Shit.

“Arthur?” said a familiar voice.

It sounded like… but no. He must be imagining things. Arthur shook his head, pushing his fingers through his hair. 

“Arthur? Are you okay?” 

Arthur blinked his eyes open. And stared, his vision swimming, through the swirling curtain of rain as a bedraggled figure approached him, rucksack still hanging off one shoulder. 

“Merlin?” Unbelieving, Arthur let out an incredulous bark of laughter, and then another. “God. It is you! I thought we’d missed you!” Staring for a moment, Arthur suddenly realised that his mouth had dropped open. He shut it hastily, feeling it tilt up into a lopsided smile. The noise and clatter of the busy crowd seemed to melt away leaving him and Merlin in a halo of tranquility. Relief mingled with adrenaline to make him feel giddy. 

“I went for a pee and missed my train.” Merlin hunched his shoulders into a sheepish shrug. “I’m going to have to get the next one...” 

“Please don’t.” Arthur sighed, but there was a spark of hope in his chest now, one that burned brighter with every word. “I’ve brought someone to see you. Please listen to what they have to say? And then, if you still don’t want to stay, I won’t stop you again. I promise.” 

Merlin smiled at him properly then. “You came for me. But… how did you get here all the way from Launceston?”

Arthur laughed again, his chest inexplicably feeling a hundred times lighter. “Well, that’s a long story. Had a bit of a detour, too.” 

“A detour?”

“Yeah. Via Truro.” 

“Truro? But that’s where my mum—” 

“Exactly!”

Just then, Hunith emerged from the station subway, with Balinor beside her. Merlin’s eyes widened in shock. “Mum! What the—?”

“Oh, Merlin.” Hunith stepped right up to him and gave her son a huge hug. “You and I need to have a little chat, my boy.” 

“But I—” 

Just then, a train drew up at an opposite platform, brakes shrieking. The noise was deafening. Arthur grabbed Merlin’s arm, tugging him towards the stairs. 

“Come on, Merlin,” he yelled. “Stop lollygagging and come with us.” 

“Lollygagging?” shouted Merlin back. “That’s a long word for you. Do you even know what it means?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin.” The steady back-and-forth did more than any amount of serious discussion to ease the tight spot that clutched at Arthur’s chest ever since Merlin left. They descended into the subway and the noise faded. Merlin’s mother and father followed them down. “It’s what you’re doing now,” he added, over his shoulder.

“Nah, don’t be daft,” said Merlin, following Arthur into the corridor and catching him up to jog along at his side. “I’m not a lollygagger. Loitering, maybe, I’ll grant you that. I’m an expert loiterer. But lollygagging? No, that’s not one of my superpowers.” 

“Loitering. With intent to lollygag.” Arthur grinned. 

Rolling his eyes, Merlin gave him a little shove. “Prat.” 

“Idiot,” responded Arthur with an equally fond push of his own. 

“Boys, let’s find a decent coffee shop and talk this over properly, shall we?” Hunith pushed past them, stalking through the ticket barriers and dragging Balinor along in her wake. 

For a moment, Arthur was shocked that she could move so fast in heels, but then again he should know better than to be shocked by the indomitable power of such a tiny yet determined person. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know any similarly implacable women. He was Morgana’s brother, after all. 

***

Arthur’s tea was tepid and the biscuit soggy, but at least they managed to find a quiet corner where he and Balinor could hide from the public gaze, Balinor nursing his hot chocolate in relative obscurity while Merlin talked to his mum in another booth. 

“So. Do you think he’ll come with us?” Balinor’s brows furrowed and he blew on his drink. “They’ve been talking for ages.” 

“No they haven’t.” Arthur let his gaze drift over to the brightly lit spot where Merlin sat with his mother. “We’ve only been here ten minutes.”

From this angle, Merlin’s cheekbones were stark and prominent, lending him an ethereal air, while his lips were plump and bitten-pink. Every so often, when he looked down at his coffee, the intent line of his jaw and brow made him seem somehow stern and almost formidable for a moment, before he lifted his chin again and smiled at his mother until his eyes crinkled into upturned half-moons, an expression that always seemed to make Arthur’s heart flutter and his stomach clench. 

“Arthur?”

“Hmm?” Wrenching his attention away for a second, Arthur blinked at Balinor. “Sorry. I was miles away. Did you say something?” 

“I said, I wonder what Hunith is saying.” 

Hunith had cupped Merlin’s hands in her own now, and was talking earnestly while Merlin listened, nodding occasionally. While Arthur watched, she reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear, while Merlin swallowed and shook his head. 

The intimacy of the moment was so far beyond anything Arthur had ever shared with his father that it made his throat ache and he had to look away.

“So. You’re Merlin’s dad, huh?” he said, sitting back on his chair’s two rear legs to disguise his discomfort. “That’s a turn up for the books.” 

“Yeah.” Balinor sighed and turned his head to look across at where his son and the mother of his son sat locked in discussion about him. “In a manner of speaking.” 

Arthur felt a little bit sorry for Balinor, excluded from Merlin’s life like that. He’d always been a kind, if distant figure, when Arthur was growing up. Later, of course, Arthur learned about all the inner mental health struggles that Balinor had overcome during those years. But Balinor had never raised his voice to the young Arthur, nor been anything less than kind.

“I’ve been a terrible father, truth be told,” Balinor said now, still focussing intently on his son’s profile. “Absent from my own son’s life…” 

“That wasn’t your fault.” Arthur took a sip of his tea and grimaced at it. Whoever had made it must have used water that wasn’t boiling, because there was no taste in it whatsoever. 

“That’s as may be.” Balinor shrugged. “I think… I mean… I’m proud of him, of course I am. Even though I had nothing to do with making him into the man that he is. He looks happy. Centred. Hunith is an amazing person and I have nothing but admiration for her... ” He looked back at Arthur. “And what about you? Are you happy, Arthur?” 

Surprised, Arthur looked up at him. “What do you mean? I’m fine.” 

“It’s just… seeing Merlin with his mother, now.” Balinor nodded towards them, where they sat forehead-to-forehead, framed by the window, dark hair mingling in a cloud of midnight. “They look so affectionate. And it’s got me to thinking, you know… about you. And Ygraine.” 

“Balinor…” warned Arthur, shifting his weight abruptly forward, so that the front two chair legs went back down and he was sitting straight. He wasn’t sure he was ready for his own issues to be exposed like this. “I don’t—” 

“I mean…” Balinor ploughed on, oblivious or insensitive to Arthur’s growing sense of unease. “I know what Uther was like. When you were small, I mean. And… I can’t help thinking I could have helped, you know?” 

Pressing his lips together, Arthur dunked his biscuit into the tea, taking a bite just for something to do while he calmed his churning thoughts. He didn’t want to answer this question. But when he looked up, Balinor was still staring at him with an expectant tilt to his eyebrows. 

“I… um. I…” Arthur exhaled sharply. “I’ve been over this, with my therapist—”

“That’s the whole point, Arthur. You shouldn’t need a therapist.” Balinor shook his head. “Don’t you see? Uther… he didn’t mean to be cold. He is enormously proud of you. Do you know that? When you did that audition… did you know he kept your tape? Did you know he plays it? Not anyone else’s. Just yours.”

Arthur’s legs felt numb. “What?”

“And that scene… the one where you play him dismissing you from his presence… He got hold of the rushes and he plays that too. Over and over. I’ve seen him do it.” 

“I don’t…” that scene had been so hard to film. Arthur remembers how he had sat outside in the car park for ages afterwards, bum going numb on the cold concrete, bidding his hands to stop sweating and his legs to stop trembling. His hands were starting to sweat again now, just from the memory. “I—”

“Uther is… I know it’s hard to forgive our fathers, Arthur. And you and Merlin have every reason to hate us, I get that. I truly do. And I know he probably never tells you but… You are Uther’s shining light, Arthur. You should know that.” 

Jesus. Arthur had not expected this afternoon to turn into a therapy session. Dumbfounded, he swallowed and stared at the stained formica tabletop, pushing a soggy napkin around with one finger as he tried to slow his breathing as Mithian had taught him. 

“I’m so sorry, Arthur. I could have… but I was a terrible mentor to you, too. I was distant and wrapped up in my own problems… Merlin is right. I’m self-absorbed. This film glosses over too much. I could have done so much better. I am truly sorry. Uther was an unkind father, and maybe I could have tried harder to stop him from being so cold, you know? But the least I can do is… if you are able to, I mean… I’d like to film some other scenes. There’s more of this story that needs to be told, after all.” 

Merlin chose that moment to look up. He locked eyes with Arthur. 

Arthur held his breath and said a silent prayer to all the gods. 

And then Merlin nodded, slowly. 

Arthur breathed. In and out, in and out. And closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Merlin was still watching him. So, Arthur nodded back, letting a half smile tug at his lip. 

Because suddenly, Arthur knew what it would take to keep Merlin on this production. Without doubt, it would hurt. Without doubt, it would expose some of the most painful parts of his own childhood, and challenge Arthur to reach into himself and find a strength that he didn’t know he had. But right now, if Merlin kept looking at him like that, with such hope and confidence blazing from his eyes, Arthur felt like he could do anything. 

“All right,” he said softly, rising to his feet, the cool remnants of his tea forgotten. “Let’s go. We’ve got a film to rescue, and then…” 

“Then?”

He quirked a smile at her. “Well... then you and Hunith have a scene to write. Talking of which... good luck with that, mate. She's coming over.” 

He couldn't help bursting out laughing at Hunith's intent expression as she bore down upon them, nor at Balinor's wild flailing, even if it did end up being Arthur's teapot that landed on the floor in a puddle of dregs. He didn't mind. It was cold anyway.


	13. Chapter 13

“Keep your eyes closed!” Daegal’s face was so close to Merlin’s that he could smell the faint scent of his cologne. “I’ve got to paint this dragon eye onto your left eyelid, now. Then we can do the scales across that side of your face.”

Closing his eyes as he’d been instructed, Merlin settled back into his chair. His make-up today would resemble Balinor’s iconic look from that long ago Tintagel Festival show, with half his face painted to resemble a dragon, covered in lurid scales of green, gold and red. The eyelid paint meant that when he closed one eye, his face would transform into that of the beast from their opening number of the show. At a time when album art had been one of the most powerful visual media in the world, this iconic visual styling had graced the album cover of The Dragonlords’ second album. As well as that, it was one of the most infamous looks from one of the most infamous concert openings in rock ‘n’ roll history, and Merlin had been so excited about recreating it when he got the role that he had spent hours poring over the footage. His feelings now were more mixed, but when he peeped with his free eye at his own changing reflection in the mirror, he still couldn’t help the flutter of excitement that ignited in his chest. 

“Try not to move too much,” said Daegal. “God, look at you. I’m so glad you came back, Merlin, darling.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Me too,” said Sefa from somewhere over to his right. “I can’t wait to see you in this wig and helmet!”

“But, honestly, darling,” Daegal went on. “You are the talk of the crew. I mean, I’m not the only one who felt like cheering when I heard what you said to that Uther.”

“Hey. That’s my father you’re talking about!” protested Arthur, who was sitting in the chair next to Merlin, while Sefa bustled around making adjustments to his wig. 

“Sorry, sweet cheeks,” said Daegal. His face moved away, voice getting a little fainter. “I know he’s your dad, but he’s super mean to you and he deserved what he got. And so did Balinor!” 

“Not a massive fan of the two surviving members of the Dragonlords then?” Merlin opened one eye to see what Daegal was doing. 

“Well I am, obviously. I mean, darling, their costumes and make up were literally _fabulous_,” Grimacing, Daegal leaned back to dip his brush into a pot, dabbing it onto a hanky, and then dipping it in again, all the while carrying on speaking seemingly without stopping to draw breath. “And as for the dragon make-up – every make-up artist worth their salt wanted to have a slice of that when I was at college. Simply iconic. And no-one can help empathise with Balinor after all those shenanigans with the band’s manager, and his addictions and all. Bless him. And as for Uther, well, he was clearly distraught by Ygraine’s untimely—and begging your pardon Arthur, But, well, you know.” 

“Actually, no I don’t. Pray expand,” came Arthur’s voice in a soft growl. 

“Don’t be like that, Arthur, darling. We all love you, you know that.” Daegal bent forward again, occupying most of Merlin’s field of vision, bracing the heel of his hand on Merlin’s cheek, brushed poised. “Hold still, darling. Anyway, I was saying. About the Dragonlords. I don’t hate them _per se_. It’s just that… well, Uther’s no saint, obviously, as Percival says—” 

“Aah. _Percival _says, does he?” Merlin closed his eye again and fought off a grin. Percival was a huge-muscled road-crew guy, with allegedly tree-trunk-like arms. “Didn’t you snog him at that karaoke par—?”

“Stop interrupting, darling,” Daegal huffed. “I’m losing my train of thought. As _Percival_ says—” 

“Yeah, do stop interrupting, _Mer_lin. Honestly. Let the man speak.” Arthur’s tone was laced with amusement. “Poor Daegal can’t get a word in edgewise for your blabbering!” 

“Thank you, Arthur,” said Daegal with dignity. “Anyway. Well… Percival says that Uther is mean to you all the time, Arthur, and he says that you and Merlin deserve better, because, well Merlin, Finna told him you’d always supported her when Valiant… you know.... And then Arthur was such a sweetie and anyway, Percival said that the crew have had a whip round to buy you a night out. No expense spared. Curry, beer, ice cream, cocktails, whatever you want.” 

“My, my, what a lot of things Percival has said,” murmured Arthur. “Quite the talkative one, isn’t he?”

Talkative, Percival famously wasn’t.

“Aww that’s really lovely.” Merlin was genuinely touched. The crew had been brilliant on this project, and he’d done his best to make sure they were all looked after, but he didn’t realise that they liked him that much. 

“So…” drawled Arthur, drawing out the “o” for a good couple of seconds. “Percival eh, Daegs? Not renowned for talking all that much, as far as I can tell. You must have spent a _lot _of time with him, mate. For him to say all those things, I mean.” 

“Hmm, maybe,” Daegal hummed. 

“Or maybe you see a lot of all the roadies?” Arthur went on. “I mean, you must have to do their make-up all the time, roadies being famously picky about their guyliner… or… oh, maybe, correct me if I’m wrong, but is it just possible that it’s only _Percival _that you see a lot of? And by a lot, I mean all. And is he as big as everyone thinks he is?” 

“Shut _up! _Or I’ll... I’ll stab you in the eye with this make-up brush!” 

“Arthur’s got a point.” Merlin couldn’t help grinning at this exchange. “In all the time I’ve been on set, Percival hasn’t said one word in my presence. In my opinion, he communicates solely by eyebrow movements. Except to you, Daegal, obviously. He’s quite the chatterbox with you—” 

“I hate you all. But yes he is. As big as they say. Every bit as big, all over. Now shut up.”

“Aww Daegal,” said Merlin. “I do believe you’re embarrassed. I’ll bet you’re blushing. Is he blushing, Sefa?”

“He certainly is.” Sefa laughed. “His face has gone quite purple.”

Picturing this vision, Merlin was unable to contain his mirth any longer, and let out a sudden bark of laughter. 

“For heaven’s sake, darling, stop moving your face!” Daegal chided. “God. I take it all back. I’m not happy you’re back at all. Monster.” 

“Don’t listen to him, Merlin.” Sefa said. “He was all for following you to beg you to come back when you walked out. But I knew Arthur was the right person to persuade you. You’ve fancied each other rotten for months. Have you shagged each other, yet?” 

“Fuck _off_!” It was a good thing that Merlin’s face lay under a thick coat of foundation, otherwise his blush would have lit up the room. 

“You _haven’t_? Oh, come on, guys,” said Daegal. “Get a move on! As Percival says, life’s too short to be all blushing and virginal. I say go for it! Right. Time for the thin brush. Brace yourself, darling.”

“Did Percival say that, too?” Arthur asked.

“I’m not talking to you any more, Arthur, darling. You may be gorgeous but I’ve quite gone off you. Unless you are willing to tell me why you haven’t shagged this fabulous specimen here, yet.” 

“Oi!” Arthur protested. “This is our private life you are dissecting!” 

At the same time as Arthur let out a noise half way between a wheeze and a laugh, the press of Daegal’s hand against Merlin’s cheek resumed, followed by a sensation of coolness against his left eyelid that made him want to shudder.

“They’re just deflecting,” said Merlin, trying to ignore the cold, slow drag of Daegal’s make-up brush. “Both of them. Trying to distract us from their own misdemeanours. Talking of which, two can play at that game. So, Sefa. How’s it going with Leon. Have you shagged him yet?” 

“Shut _up_!” said Sefa. “Leon and I are just friends, I swear. There’s nothing untoward going on.”

“Ah, yes,” said Arthur. “Because there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for why you both arrived on set together this afternoon, and Leon had his trousers on backwards…” 

“He did?” 

“No, but your face now gives you away.” 

“Bloody hell, Arthur Pendragon, you sneaky sod.” There was a soft thud, and then another.

“Ow! Stop hitting me!” 

Merlin felt a warm tide of affection spreading from his chest up to his face and had to suppress another smile, because Daegal would yell at him if he moved his face again. He would miss these cosy moments when the movie was over, and he was really glad that he was part of the team again. 

“Anyway, Daegal’s right. It’s good to have you back on the team, Merlin,” said Arthur softly, echoing Merlin’s thoughts. 

“Thanks.” Eyes still closed, Merlin reached out with one hand and groped towards Arthur’s chair. Arthur’s hand grasped his and squeezed it softly, ignoring the way that this gesture made both Daegal squeal and Sefa let out delighted aww-ing noises. And they left their hands there, a warm point of connection and solidarity, until Merlin’s face and Arthur’s hair were all done. 

But later, after he had suffered the ministrations of the wardrobe crew for the last time, Merlin requested half an hour alone in the caravan for some vocal warm-ups and to allow himself the peace he needed to meditate his way into the role. 

And this time, for the first time since the project had started, found that he couldn’t. 

There was an abrupt knock on the door, which opened a little. Gaius’s head appeared in the gap. “Merlin? Five minutes, dear boy.”

“Of course. I’m nearly ready,” lied Merlin as he stared at his reflection. 

The face that stared back out at him was not his, but Balinor’s — hair, make-up and wardrobe had done an amazing job. Dragonish and fey, he was every inch the one-eyed dragonlord. The wild, rough hair was gone. Instead, his wig resembled a thatch that had been tamed into a braid, which was tucked under a golden helmet, decorated with dragonish motifs. His waistcoat sparkled with red, green and gold sequins, depicting the bejewelled hide of a dragon. Open to the waist, it revealed the tiny wooden dragon that dangled at his throat. The outfit was completed with red patent leather platform knee-high boots, and scarlet, sequinned leather trousers. 

When he closed one eye, a dragon stared out of the left side of his face. It was creepy and brilliant. 

So far, so good. He was Balinor on the surface. But no matter how deep he reached, the character still only felt skin deep. 

The door opened again. “Two more minutes.” 

Two minutes? Merlin groaned and drew in another breath before closing his eyes and reaching out with his senses. Leather pressed across his skin. The heady scent of the make-up filled his nostrils. He pressed his lips together, tasting lipstick. Hands rested on the arms of the chair. Outside the caravan drummed the low insistent beat of the previous performer’s final number. 

When this band finished finished, Gwen and Arthur would strut up onto stage. And Merlin? He would have to become Balinor, then. Put on his game face and exude all the arrogance and ego of a rock god under his dragonish persona as he made his grand entrance riding in the belly of the beast and then emerging from it to straddle it as he descended onto the stage. It had been an act for Balinor, back then, and it would be an act for Merlin, today. 

The stunt team had already done the dangerous, aerial part of the film. So, wardrobe and hair and make-up would have had to prepare a crude facsimile of all this paraphernalia for his stunt double, as well. All Merlin had to do was emerge from the belly of the beast onto the stage and take up his stance before launching into their first song.

So many people were relying on him to get this moment right. He would only have one shot. There could be no retakes; they were filming live, at this festival. He had to do this. Not just for himself, but for his mother. For all the crew and the wardrobe and hair and make-up teams… for Gaius, for Gwaine, for Leon… 

He opened his eyes, and his hand slipped to his throat, seeking Aithusa’s comforting presence, before remembering that she was buried somewhere in his hastily packed bag. 

All of them were depending on him. He had to do them justice by acting and singing his skin off, tonight. He gargled with a glass of water and swallowed. Breathing deeply, he forced himself to run through a couple more vocal warm-ups. 

What was it that his mum had told him, in that formica-tabled Plymouth truck stop? She had stared at him through the steam and her voice was low but still clear against the clatter and hiss of the hard-at-work staff. 

“Forget about Balinor the legend,” she had said. “Think about Balinor the man. Tell his story. And through it, tell yours, and mine.” 

“But—”

“No buts, Merlin. This is your chance to do something real. It will be amazing. I know it.” 

And when Balinor had outlined his ideas for expanding the story to include Hunith’s arc, and Merlin’s, in the cab on the way back to Launceston, Merlin had begun to believe that it might be true. 

But that was before. This was now. And now… well, whoever thought acting was easy never had never had to make themselves slide inside the character of someone for whom they had such painful feelings. Was this how Arthur felt in those scenes where he played Uther acting like such an arse to his own son? God only knew how Arthur had borne it. 

In past scenes, when he knew less of Balinor, this part of his job had been far simpler. But now… now there was too much of his own personal conflict seething under his skin. He had to banish it somehow, slip out of Merlin’s head and into that of his father. 

Balinor. He was Balinor, now. 

Balinor, who had betrayed Hunith and abandoned his own son... 

No. Merlin shook his head. That line of thinking would not help him at all. 

“It’s time.” Gaius was standing in the door. “Ready?”

“Not really.” But he stood up, huffing out a deep sigh, and still thinking about his mother. It had been another one of Hunith’s questions that finally persuaded him to carry on with this movie, after all. 

“What about Arthur?” she had said, in that gentle way of hers, her eyes pressed into sympathetic almond shapes. 

“Arthur?” 

“He cares for you a great deal, anyone can see that. It must have been hard for him, too, playing his father. I’m not saying you have to do this, Merlin. Only you can make that decision. But bear in mind all the others who have sacrificed a lot emotionally for this production.” 

“But, Balinor.” Merlin had replied, still not wanting to betray his mother by giving in and going running back to the production. “Surely you don’t want—”

“Balinor? Schmalinor. Pah.” Her gaze had flicked away—over to the table where Balinor sat with Arthur—and back. “If that insufferable hairy barn-owl of a man can make himself eat humble pie to drag me out of class to talk you into it, then maybe there is a scrap of humanity in him after all.” 

She had made him smile then, as she always somehow managed to do. 

Turning his mind back to Arthur’s portrayal, Merlin could see that she was right. He had seen the rushes. Arthur’s nuanced performance as Uther, his own father, deserved all the accolades. He had developed Uther as a complex, deeply grief-struck character whose cold and embittered exterior was a plate of armour, beneath which simmered dark and entangled feelings of resentment and grief. He was mesmerising in the role. After what it had cost him, Arthur deserved to be seen. 

“Merlin?”

“Hmm?” Merlin was brought back to the present with a jolt. 

He stepped across the caravan and paused on the threshold. This tucked away spot at the edge of the field that housed the festival had an uninhibited view across an expanse of roiling ocean. The earlier relentless rain had eased. Away to the west, across the glimmering sea, the sun broke free from the cloud, casting a clear, golden glow. It was time.

“We really do have to go, Merlin,” said Gaius, more gently than Merlin thought him capable of.

“On it.” Merlin rolled his head to loosen his neck. 

So. Here he was. He had been Merlin Wyllt in a costume when he stood up, but by the time he stepped out of the caravan, grabbing a towel to dab at the sweat building on his neck, the transformation was complete. Time slowed. The opening chords of _Banish the Dragon _started up. His heart beat matched to the tempo of the music, and he was Balinor. 

_He is Balinor Emrys. Nineteen years old, in a band with his mates, riding the crest of a glam rock revival, and on the cusp of becoming a rock and roll legend. His band is number one in the charts. He has just met a wonderful woman, as fiery and sassy as a dragon, who aspires to be a dancer. He will slay monsters for her, all the monsters he brings with him, all his own demons. He will go into rehab for her, care for her, buy her own dance company if that is what it takes, and bring her all the happiness she deserves. _

_He whistles the guitar riff from _Banish the Dragon_ and swaggers down the steps with a sinuous roll to his hips. _

_As he saunters towards his capsule in the dragon’s jewel-encrusted belly, one of the roadies (it’s Gwaine but Merlin casts him as a roadie in his head) looks up from his clipboard and let out a whistle between his teeth. _

_“Well, hel-lo!” He smacks his lips. “Careful now. Don’t get those sexy boots all muddy!”_

_“Fuck off.” Mer—_Balinor_ flips him the bird but makes sure that as he walks he stays on the protected pathway. _

_The music has stopped, and there’s someone on stage speaking into the mic. _

_“Let’s hear it for the Dragonlords!” yells a darling of drive-time radio. _

_The crowd let out an electrifying roar that makes Balinor’s ribcage vibrate. Uther starts up the guitar riff again. Even at this distance, the heavy beat of Ygraine’s drumming sends tiny thrills through the soles of Balinor’s platform boots. _

_“Action!” says Leon, bringing down the clapperboard._

_“Let’s go, baby,” says Balinor, chucking his towel at Gwaine’s face. Grabbing his batwing cape from the waiting Sefa as he struts past, he flings it around his shoulders with a cocky flourish of his wrists, and flashes her a wink. “Time to rock this joint to hell and back.” Bending, he enters the capsule and is swallowed up inside the belly of the beast. _

_Showtime!_


	14. Chapter 14

> ***~0000~***
> 
> # Here be dragons!
> 
> ## A Music Wire Magazine Exclusive By Sophia TiaMor and Elena Godwin
> 
> ***~0000~***
> 
> Revellers at this year’s iconic Tintagel Festival were today treated to a preposterous and magical display not seen since the heady days of Rock ‘n’ Roll’s fiercest icons of glam rock, _The Dragonlords,_ last hit the stage. Which is no coincidence. Today’s act attempted to revisit _The Dragonlords_’ most successful performance, the seminal and sensational original Avalon Stage performance of, among other beloved tracks, their smash hit _Ballad of the Lonely Dragon_. The whole show was part of a scene cooked up by surviving band members Uther Pendragon and Balinor Emrys, who have been working on a much anticipated biopic. The final product should hit our screens early next year. In the meantime, we spoke to freelance music reporter Elena Godwin, who was given exclusive access behind the scenes to the cast and to Balinor himself. 
> 
> In their heyday, _The Dragonlords_ were no strangers to controversy. What with all the mysteries around the death of the band’s manager, rumours of Balinor’s drug taking, and the tragic death in childbirth of Ygraine Pendragon, it seemed that the band were rarely out of the headlines. Although Uther and Balinor both sank into obscurity after that, their back catalog is still among the best beloved in the genre. Which speaks to the fact that at the heart of this band’s legacy was the one key ingredient that defines every successful band: a stunning collection of memorable and innovative tunes. 
> 
> So, did the team behind this new project do justice to this incredible legacy? Elena certainly gives them a resounding thumbs up. 
> 
> “Fans who turned up today in the hope of hearing this glorious duet performed live for the first time in over twenty years were not disappointed,” she says. 
> 
> Wow. That’s good to know. And what about the actors playing these parts? 
> 
> “Arthur Pendragon and Merlin Wyllt, who play Uther and Balinor respectively, are talents to be reckoned with," says Elena. "Their voices blend beautifully and they have an amazing on-stage rapport.”
> 
> Arthur Pendragon? I ask her the obvious question: any relation to Uther?
> 
> “Yeah, Arthur is Uther and Ygraine’s son. It’s a family production. In many ways.” She laughs. “Arthur wasn’t the original choice to play Uther, funnily enough. But there were problems with the original actor during the first few weeks of filming. Besides which, the casting director herself tells me that Arthur’s talent is more than a match for Uther’s.” 
> 
> Does Elena agree?
> 
> “I think Arthur’s performance will speak for itself. I’ve seen some of the uncut parts of this movie and it’s going to pack a powerful emotional punch. ” 
> 
> We’re excited. Was the visual display as good as we remember it from all those years ago? 
> 
> “Oh, God, yeah. The costumes and staging were fabulous. It’s incredible what they’ve managed to do. Annis, the original costume designer for the band back in the day, came out of retirement as a consultant for the movie. I don’t know how they wangled that, but...” 
> 
> Hurrah! Those costumes were brilliant, and we would have been disappointed if they had not been done to the same standard. Let’s talk about the opening scene. Back in the day, Balinor exploded onto the stage on dragonback. How did they manage to recreate that effect?
> 
> “Honestly, the stunts were done the day before, but Merlin (Wyllt) must have nerves of steel,” says Elena. “He was stuck in this little pod at the base of a huge dragon that floated in over the crowd, and then when he emerged, singing, onto the dragon’s back everyone went absolutely bananas.” 
> 
> I can imagine! 
> 
> “After transfixing us with this stunning display, Wyllt kind of floated onto the stage and stepped down as if he owned the crowd. Which, to be honest, he pretty much did by then. Well, I’d have been like jelly after all that, but he managed to stand up there on his own and sing… wow. What a voice. He mesmerised us all. And then when Arthur’s voice blended with his, it gave everyone goosebumps.” 
> 
> I am starting to wish that I’d been there. Now, this show forms part of an upcoming biopic that focuses on the band’s origins and its meteoric rise and heavy fall. That’s a lot of pressure to put on the shoulders of the young and largely unknown cast. Are they up to it? 
> 
> “If their acting talent can match their ability to sing, these two men certainly have a glittering future ahead of them.”
> 
> The story revolves around Ygraine, who is played by Gwen Leodegrance. Did Elena get to meet her?
> 
> “Gwen is amazing.” Elena’s face lights up and she waves both hands around. It’s the most animated I’ve seen her. “Honestly, her drum technique is incredible, and her voice… it’s reminiscent of Ygraine at her very best. You don’t see many women drumming in rock bands these days, which I think is criminal. I mean, Ygraine did gigs when she was seven months pregnant, for heaven’s sake. Two hours up there on stage - it’s a full work out, too. Anyway, I’m inspired...” 
> 
> I can relate to this, back in the day being a big-time Sheila E groupie myself, once upon a time. 
> 
> “You love Sheila E? Oh, God, me too. But my favourite is Nicki Glaspie? I mean, she was brilliant in Dumpstaphunk, but now she’s like…” 
> 
> We talk about our favourite women drummers for a while. It’s normal. We’re music journalists. That’s what we do. And it’s clear from Elena’s enthusiasm that soon we’ll have another woman drummer to watch turn into a rock legend. I, for one, can’t wait. 
> 
> “Anyway…” Elena is a great interviewee. She gets us back on track without prompting. “As for Gwen... Gwen is teaching me and my partner drum technique, and it’s the most fun I’ve had for years. I’m dyspraxic, but Gwen’s such a patient teacher… and she says it will really help my co-ordination because you have to use both sides of your brain while you’re playing drum kit… Gwen is gorgeous, too. We’ve become… well. Good, no, great friends, Morgana, Gwen and I. Did I mention that?” 
> 
> Morgana? As in Arthur's sister and your fiancee? No, Elena, but then again you didn’t really need to, because I can tell by the way that you are blushing all over the place. And now I want to come and join in your drum sessions with these two awesome women. 
> 
> “Anyway. Gwen’s got some amazing scenes in this movie and she’s going to blow you all away. And it’s got some surprises for you, too. It’s not just about Uther and Ygraine, and their on-off relationship’s impact on Balinor.” 
> 
> We thought we’d get round to talking about Balinor eventually. Did Elena get to talk to him? 
> 
> “Yeah, I mean, he’s been through a lot, you know? But this story is very much about his inner journey towards finding peace with himself. And Balinor is such a darling. He’s opened himself up for brutal scrutiny… we really get to understand his early life, the mistakes he made, and how he manages to slay his inner monster. Because of course that song, _to slay the monster first say its name_, of course it’s a metaphor. We all knew that, though, didn’t we?” 
> 
> We did, Elena. It’s not the first metaphor for addiction to come out of the glam rock oeuvre, after all.
> 
> “So, basically, it explores some of the little-known facets of the band’s relationships that I think will really resonate with audiences… And we’ve got this amazing, candid new scene with him - the real Balinor, I mean - talking to his… to mmm… well, I won’t spoil it for you. But it’s a shock. Besides being literally bursting with cracking tunes, of course!” 
> 
> Of course. We can’t wait to see it. Can you?
> 
> ***~0000~***


	15. Chapter 15

A surge of adrenaline coursed through Merlin’s veins as the band reached the climax of their final number, giving him a high unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Gwen’s frenzied drum breaks, Arthur’s apocalyptic guitar playing and the soaring roar of Merlin’s vocals, echoed in his rib cage. The sensation made him feel like he could lift the universe with one hand. Above their heads, a kaleidoscope of fireworks burst into multi-hued blooms with a cacophony of thunderous booms. Smoke from the fireworks and dry ice wreathed the stage in mist, designed to represent the dragon’s fire and the fog of its breath. The cordite tang, astringent on his tongue, tasted of dynamite and euphoria. 

Leaping, Merlin thrust his feet high into the air and brought them crashing down onto the stage in time with the final beat of the bass drum. The chord reverberated into the crowd. Their answering clamour thrilled through every sinew. He roared back at them, arms outstretched. 

"Thank you Tintagel!" he yelled, drawing out the last syllable as long as his breath would allow.

Deafening bellows greeted this statement. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he was dimly aware of Gwaine bringing down the clapperboard over to one side of the stage. The filming was over. But this? This was their moment. Him, Arthur and Gwen. 

“We nailed it!” he yelled, punching the air before beckoning to his co-stars. They joined him on the lip of the stage, trembling hands entwined. Ecstatic faces implored them, hands outstretched one moment, blowing kisses the next. Tears streamed down cheeks in the audience and on stage alike as the whistles and screams and cat-calls and thunderous applause echoed across the field. 

It was intoxicating. Wild. Little wonder that rock stars carried on performing, if this was how their fans rewarding them. Giddy and exhilarated, they bowed, the three of them in a line. To his right Gwen’s hand gave his a little squeeze. Arthur did the same on his left. What a team! 

Still fizzing with excitement, they ran off stage, leaping over wires, into the welcoming and anonymous dimness of the backstage area. 

“Oh, my God!” Merlin yelled, still struggling to make his voice heard against the din. Every limb was shaking. “That was fucking wild. Oh, man. When can do that again?” 

“I know!” squealed Gwen. “I nearly lost it completely in my first drum break, did you see? I was looking at you, Merlin and you winked at me and God, that dragon eye. You look amazing!” 

“_You _look amazing!” 

It was true. Clad in skin-tight black leather with her fanned-out curls framing her face, wild and free, Gwen looked like a goddess of metal. At least it looked like leather, but the fabric had some kind elasticity to it which meant that she could move freely as she bashed her way around the drum kit. The make-up framing her eyes was thick and gold, to match her shining lipstick. 

“You both look amazing.” Arthur shook his head, but his eyes were dancing and his chest heaving as he let out a huge, heartfelt laugh. “And Gwen of course you always looks fantastic. But who would have thought it possible that Merlin of all people could look like… like _that_.” 

“You can never just be nice, can you?” Merlin grinned as he looked Arthur up and down, from the tip of his silver platform boots to the lopsided smirk that graced his gorgeous face, and tried to think of something insulting to say. But it was impossible. Every detail of Arthur’s costume — from the way that his silver trousers outlined the thick muscling in his thighs and bum to the deep, navel-grazing slash in his silver shirt — cried out _sex on two legs_. 

So he contented himself with calling Arthur a prat, swallowing, because his mouth had gone inexplicably dry, and taking another appreciative look at the streaks of sweat that still threaded through Arthur’s chest hair. 

“As for your trousers, Merlin!” growled Arthur, gaze dropping down towards Merlin’s crotch for a moment. “They’re obscene. I thought you were going to rip out of them like the incredible hulk at one point, you were prancing around so much.” 

“You wish!”

“Maybe I do!” 

“Stop it you two!” Gwen punched Arthur on the arm. “Save your flirting for later. We’ve got a party to go to, as soon as we get out of all this gear.” 

“We do?” said Arthur.

“We weren’t flirting!” said Merlin at the same time. 

“Yes you were,” she replied as they started to descend the steps that would take them back out to the bustling arms of the crew, who crowded around them removing head dresses and beckoning them this way and that.

“This way, Merlin, darling.” Daegal tugged on his right arm. 

“Give them a minute, Daegs,” chastised Gaius. “You were all brilliant. Somebody get some champagne. Leon?" 

“Gwaine's already on it,” said Leon, pausing to give Arthur's shoulder a few vehement pats. “Look at you, mate. God. You look just like bloody Uther. It's uncanny. And Gaius is right. Fantastic job, everyone. Bring me the rushes. Sound guys over to my van. Let's get this stage cleared. There's another act coming on in fifteen minutes.” 

“On it!” yelled a member of the crew.

“It's time for your interview, Gaius,” Leon added. 

“Wish me luck!” Gaius turned his back and shuffled up the stairs back to the stage area, dodging road crew laden with boxed-up equipment. 

Amid thumps and thuds and clatters, feverish bodies scampered this way and that, darting from one part of the stage to another, hauling equipment and armfuls of clothes around in a scene of carefully orchestrated chaos. A few minutes later, over the PA, they could hear a radio DJ interviewing a triumphant-sounding Gaius onstage while the crowd continued to yell and hoot for more.

“Anyway," said Gwen, ducking as someone from wardrobe took off her cape and replaced it with an incongruous-looking North Face jacket before disappearing off into the gloom, "Gwaine’s hired some place. Morgana’s bringing Elena. She’s got some interview to do first, though, apparently.” 

Before Merlin could remark on how cosy Gwen seemed to be with Elena and Morgana these days, Gwaine appeared at their right, thrusting filled champagne flutes into each of their hands and clinking them with his own, one after the other. “Well done, my beauties! That was epic. Chin chin!” 

“Bottoms up!” replied Merlin. 

“Cheers,” said Arthur and Gwen at the same time. They all had a good swig of their champagne.

The bubbles fizzed up Merlin's nose, reflecting his euphoric mood, and he giggled, grinning at Arthur over the rim of his glass. Grinning back, Arthur reached out to pummel Merlin's arm before he lifted his glass again and took another sip. Which was when Arthur’s eyes widened mid gulp and he spit his champagne out, all over his arm. 

“Oi!” protested Merlin, wiping the liquid away with one hand. But Arthur wasn’t looking at him. 

“Father!” Arthur choked out. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

Uther was still in Tintagel? Surprised, Merlin swivelled his head. It was difficult to see after the glare of the on-stage lights now that they were in the deepening gloom of the dusky backstage area, but when he blinked he could just about make out a shadowy figure standing in a gap between two caravans, staring straight at him. As Merlin looked over, Uther himself emerged from the pool of shadow into a dimly lit area. 

Remembering that morning’s outburst, Merlin flushed under his make-up even as he started to raise the hand that held his champagne in an automatic act of acknowledgment. 

“Would you like some champagne, Father?” Arthur was saying as he beckoned Uther over. “I’m sure Gwaine could--” 

“No, no. That’s not why I’m here.” As Uther approached them, his face remained sombre. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, as if he had come to deliver bad news. “Actually, Arthur. Could I see you for a moment?” 

“Of course.” Arthur didn’t move.

“In private. Come. Please.” With an economical movement of his head, Uther nodded towards one of the smaller on-location trailers, and turned to walk towards it. 

“Fine.” The smile never left Arthur’s lips, but Merlin couldn’t help notice that his eyes had lost a little of their joyful sparkle as he followed, squaring his shoulders as if to brace himself for a scolding. 

“Any idea what that’s all about?” murmured Merlin to Gwen. But she shook her head. 

“Come along, darling. Let's get that helmet off and start getting rid of that make-up before it starts to crack.” Daegal tugged Merlin's arm again. 

As he trailed dutifully after the make-up team, feet dragging on the red carpet, Merlin’s heart was still hammering from the grand finale of the set, but a sudden concern over Arthur lost him some of the buzz. What exactly did Uther want? Would Arthur be okay? Would Uther blame Arthur for Merlin’s earlier tirade? Wondering what was going on inside, he trained worried eyes on the trailer that Arthur and Uther had disappeared into. 

“Don’t worry, mate,” said Gwaine, quietly, offering the champagne bottle for a top up. “He’s a big boy. He’ll be okay.” 

“Yeah, I suppose so.” Merlin held out his glass, but when he took a sip, found his appetite for champagne quite diminished.

***


	16. Chapter 16

When Arthur entered the cluttered trailer, with Uther trailing in behind him, Uther’s expression was closed and downcast, his mouth in a tight, grave line. He didn’t look up even as he closed the door behind them both.

“Father? Is everything all right?” 

With a wary glance at the closed door, Arthur squared his stance ready for a tirade and dragged clammy hands down the fabric of his costume trousers. He wasn’t sure what to expect. There should be no reason to be nervous, but then again his father must have mixed feelings about seeing his work reproduced on stage like that. And ever the perfectionist when it came to his children, Uther had never been one to mince words where he saw inferior or mediocre work from either of them. Which was arguably most of the time. 

Finally, Uther raised his eyes. “Not entirely. No.” 

Right. Here it was. Nodding, and biting his lip as he did so, Arthur steeled himself for what was about to happen. He just hoped that Uther’s voice wouldn’t be raised so far as to be audible outside the trailer. “Father, I’m sorry if I disap—” 

Uther held up a finger. “Let me speak.” 

“Sorry.” Arthur swallowed. 

“And stop apologising. I... I just…” Shrugging one shoulder, Uther harrumphed and stared at the ceiling, jaw working as he subsided back into silence. 

It was an odd gesture. If Arthur didn’t know better, he’d think his father was just as nervous about this encounter as he was. But that couldn’t be right, surely? Uther did not do nerves. No, he was probably galvanising himself for an explosion, which really wasn’t fair. The crowd had loved the performance, hadn’t they? And Gaius was happy with the filming. In all the ways that mattered, the evening had been a resounding success. So what if Arthur’s father was a perfectionist with a total inability to see anything but the flaws in Arthur? 

Resentment crept into his throat and up his face, making his eyes hot. 

“I realise that we didn’t reproduce the original production entirely faithfully,” Arthur said, a sudden burst of defiance making him want to fill the silence and have his say first. “but I’m proud of what we—” 

“No, no. That’s not it.” Uther interrupted. “I just… I just wanted to congratulate you. On your performance tonight.” He levelled his gaze again.

What? Arthur gaped. That had not been what he was expecting. Nonplussed, he stared at Uther, trying to divine what might be coming next. Would it be a _but_? 

When it was clear that his father was expecting him to reply, he sucked in a breath and said, “Well. Thanks, Father. But it was very much a team effort. I can’t take credit.”

“I know that!” said Uther. “You all performed well. You, especially. And the crowd loved it.” 

Was he being serious? Still not quite sure that he understood what was happening, Arthur let a incredulous smile steal around his lips as he groped for the words. Was this finally an olive branch from the old tyrant? How should he react? 

“They did…” Arthur said slowly. “And it felt amazing. But after all, it wouldn’t have been as well received if it hadn’t been for the love that your fans still hold for your original show.”

“Which was also a team effort, as you rightly say.” Uther clapped one hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “But stop deflecting the praise for yourself. I mean it. You were… you were good, son. Really good. Well done. I’m proud of you.” He stared directly at Arthur, still serious-eyed. 

For a moment the shock stole the words right out of Arthur’s mouth. He blinked away the heat that banked behind his eyes, not quite sure if he believed what he had just heard. 

“Right. Thanks. I. Right,” he found himself choking out eventually in a choked out voice. “Thank you. Thank you, Father. That… that means a lot to me, actually.” 

Suddenly, the heat in the trailer became suffocating. So, when Uther didn’t reply, Arthur put his hand on the door handle. 

“No. Wait, Arthur,” said Uther, then, reaching out with one hand to stop Arthur from leaving. “There’s something else I want to say to you.” He shook his head and stared at his toes for a moment before looking straight at Arthur. 

With a sudden shock, Arthur realised that he and Uther were now almost the same height. How come he had never realised that before? 

“Arthur, that boy, yesterday morning… Balinor’s son… he said something.” 

“Merlin?” 

“Merlin.” Uther sighed. “He said something to me that made me think about… about how I have acted. As a father, I mean. And as I was watching you today, and thinking about the script for this damned movie, I realised something.”

He paused as if waiting for an acknowledgment. Without knowing what he meant by it, Arthur nodded.

“You know that I have always wanted the best for you. And for Morgana.” Uther swallowed. “And I want you to know, Arthur, that… while it was not easy for me bringing up children on my own, after your mother passed away. And I may have been at times a little… distant. Despite that, I have always—” his throat worked and with another painful little shock, Arthur realised that his eyes were glistening in the unforgiving light offered by the single bulb over the trailer door. 

“Father, I—” 

“No. Let me speak, Arthur. I need to tell you this. Because I… I want you to know that I am so, so proud of you.” Uther locked eyes with him. 

Barely able to believe what he was hearing, Arthur leaned back against the cold, smooth line of the trailer wall and crossed his arms.

Swallowing, Uther glanced up at the ceiling before carrying on. “I always have been, and I always will. I could not wish for a better son. And your performance tonight… it was extraordinary. You made me feel alive, like I have not done for many years.” With that bombshell, he reached out with one hand and squeezed Arthur’s shoulder. “Well done, son.”

“Thank you Father,” said Arthur faintly. 

“I… I love you so much, Arthur. You and Morgana... you mean everything to me. And I’m sorry if I… if I never told you that before. I just wanted you to know that.”

Momentarily speechless, Arthur just nodded. 

“Now, go and party like you’ve never partied before. You deserve it.” Uther reached for the hat that he’d left on the dressing table, and donned it as he exited the trailer. 

Bloody hell. Arthur leaned back, grateful for the firm, cool press of the trailer wall on his back, because without it he thought that his legs might have given way entirely. 

But partying was the last thing on his mind. It had, after all, been a long and very tiring day, and he’d had very little sleep for several nights before that. The more he contemplated the party that Gwaine had allegedly planned for that evening, the more he found himself longing for a quiet night in front of some stupid movie, with popcorn and ice cream. A night similar to what he’d come to enjoy with Merlin during the course of the filming for this movie. 

Merlin. God. He’d given Uther such a piece of his mind that morning. What was it about Merlin that meant that instead of murdering him, Uther would listen to him and take his words to heart like that? It was like a kind of magic. And all of this - the performance, Uther’s sudden epiphany - was only possible because of Merlin. Besides which, Arthur couldn’t help admitting that his co-star had begun to take on a kind of importance in Arthur’s life that would be difficult to live without, now that filming was over. It wasn’t just the fact that he was so talented and oozed sex appeal - although the way he’d moved in those sparkling skin-tight red trousers was positively obscene. No, it was more than that. 

Bang on cue, the door opened again and Merlin’s still-helmeted head peeped around the trailer door, followed by Merlin himself, clad in the entire preposterous Balinor costume. 

“Are you okay?” Merlin said softly. “Is everything okay? Uther just strode off telling everyone to party. Has he been taking something?” 

Arthur huffed out a mirthless laugh. “That might explain what just happened, I suppose!” 

It was difficult to read Merlin’s expression with all that make-up on, but from the way he was chewing his bottom lip, Arthur supposed he must be feeling anxious. 

“I think,” said Arthur eventually, feeling around the words with his tongue. “I think that my father just apologised to me for my entire childhood.” He let out another huff. “But it’s okay,” he added. “I’m okay.” And to his surprise, he found that he was not lying. “But I don’t really fancy partying any more. I’m a bit knackered, to be honest.”

“Oh, God, what a relief. Me too.” Merlin shook his head. “It’s been a heck of a day. Let’s ditch this lot.” He gestured to his costume. “And then let’s get a cab to take us back to our hotel room.” 

“I think you read my mind.”

Chuckling, Merlin made a move to leave the trailer. 

Without thinking, Arthur reached out to grab his hand and pull him back in. “Wait.” 

“What?”

It was now or never. Heart hammering, Arthur searched Merlin’s face for the answers that he sought before starting to bend forward to capture his lips in a kiss. But no, he stopped himself. He owed it to Merlin to say what he felt out loud. 

“What?” said Merlin, again, eyes huge and soft in the rapidly waning light. Outside, Arthur could hear the crowds cheering on the headline act. 

Arthur smiled. “Will you… now this is over, I mean. I’d like to… I mean, can we you know See each other? Properly, I mean. With dinner, and candles, and… because, I mean. The fact is that I’m falling for you, Merlin Wyllt. And I’d like to carry on with… with whatever this is. If that’s all right with you, I mean.” 

“Oh, God, yes.” Diving forward, Merlin fitted his mouth to Arthur’s, pressing him up against the wall with an enthusiasm that made him gasp. 

***

When Merlin blinked awake, his first sensation was that of being in a cocoon. Delicious heat wrapped his limbs and something was tickling his nose. Stifling a contented yawn, he closed his eyes again, revelling in the comforting warmth and softness of the covers, hyperaware of the heavy weights of an arm and a leg resting on his shoulder and hip. A smile stole over his face. 

Arthur. 

The previous night, after all traces of make-up and wig had been scraped off, they had arrived back at the hotel and decamped straight to their shared suite. After a hastily munched room service they’d both crashed out in Merlin’s bed, too tired to do anything but sleep. Sometime in the night, they must have both burrowed under the covers, and shortly afterwards Arthur must have turned across him, because now Merlin was effectively pinned to the mattress with his nose rammed into the broad planes of Arthur’s chest, which was rising and falling gently in time with the slow rhythm of his breathing. 

Merlin was so comfortable that he never wanted to leave. He shut his eyes against the world, and slipped back into blissful slumber. But it wasn’t long before the insistent press of his bladder prompted him to wake again. With a regretful sigh, he put one hand to Arthur’s chest, letting wiry strands of chest hair slip through his fingers 

Arthur let out a grumbling sort of purring noise, which made Merlin’s fingertips rumble, and pulled him in closer.

“You need to let me go,” said Merlin. “Or I’ll wet the bed.

“That’s not sexy,” murmured Arthur, although the insistent press of his cock against Merlin’s hip and the possessive way that Arthur’s arm tightened across Merlin’s shoulder said otherwise. 

“I’ll be back.” With a reluctant shrug, Merlin dislodged Arthur’s arm and rolled out from beneath his leg. “You can have your cuddle then.” 

“I’m not cuddling you, Merlin. That was a highly inviting embrace you were enjoying, there. It was a privilege.”

“Oh, a privilege was it? So I should be grateful that you were drooling all over me?” 

“I do not,” growled Arthur, “drool.” 

Arthur blinked up at Merlin in what he could only describe as an adorably sleepy way. Tufts of soft, blond hair spiked up in thick whorls around one ear. 

Tamping down the fond warmth that stole through his ribcage at this sight, Merlin yawned as he padded across the uneven carpet to the tiny ensuite bathroom. And later, after Arthur had followed him in, he fitted Arthur’s mouth to his and explored the map of his skin with eager fingers while Arthur ravaged him all over the en suite shower and again over the bathtub. And much later still, when they were both relaxed and sated, with floppy limbs pink from two showers each, they burrowed back into the comfort of their bed-cum-cocoon and found the curves and bumps of each other’s anatomy that fitted together in all the best possible ways as they dropped back off into a contented sleep. 

“Been wanting to do that for months,” whispered Arthur into the dip of Merlin’s shoulder.

“Me too,” confessed Merlin. “Probably since the first time you insulted me.” 

“That dragon.” Lifting his head, Arthur nodded at Merlin’s bedside table where Aithusa lay amid the ruins of her leather strap. “Did you really wear her at the audition?” 

“Yes.” Merlin chuckled. “I hoped she would bring me luck.” 

“And did she?” 

Merlin paused for a moment while they locked eyes. Arthur bore that lopsided smirk of his, but Merlin knew him well enough by now to detect the uncertainty that clouded the bright blue circle of his irises. 

“Yes,” he said, face breaking into a smile. “Of course she did. The absolute best sort. I may have lost her for a while, but in so doing, I have found something far more precious.” 

“Me too, Merlin.” Arthur’s smile widened, softening his eyes into gentle almond shapes of such startling beauty that Merlin felt his heart skip. “Me too.”

***

## END

*******

## Epilogue

*******

**Nine months later **

*******

“Okay?” Merlin made one final adjustment to Arthur’s bow tie, blue-grey eyes serious in the bright light of the sun that streamed in through their hotel room window. 

“Never better,” said Arthur. “Although I’m not sure I will have the full use of my legs for a few minutes. I’m surprised you can stand up, to be honest. I didn’t know you could contort your limbs at that angle. How come you never showed me that before?” 

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” 

“Oh, fine, fine.” Arthur sighed. “Stop fussing. I’ll be fine. I’ve been steeling myself for this for months now. I’ll be fine. Absolutely fine.” 

“Loins girded then?”

“If they were any more girded, I wouldn't be able to sit down for a month.”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed to sceptical half moons but he wisely kept his mouth shut. Because they both knew that in reality, no amount of loin-girding or self-steeling could prepare either of them for the emotional rollercoaster that awaited them on première night. 

Just then, there was a soft knock on the door.

“That’ll be for me.” Merlin leaned in for a gentle kiss, but stopped Arthur with a finger when he tried to follow through with something more demanding. “I’d better go.”

“Oh, come on, Merlin.” Arthur resented having to part with the cushion-soft press of Merlin’s lips on his.

But Merlin just laughed. “Ah-ah! Stop pouting! Greedy! I’ll see you soon enough.” And with that, he exited their hotel room, pausing to grab his dinner suit jacket from the back of a chair and sling it over one shoulder on the way out. 

Arthur sighed and checked his watch. It was time for him to go too; he should have met up with Morgana two minutes ago. She was bound to be late, of course, but if they missed out on the red carpet he would rather not be the one to get the blame.

But Morgana must have been nervous too, because she was only ten minutes over time when she joined him in the lobby, all immaculate lipstick and sleek black hair. She was wearing a sheer, red satin gown that was straight out of Hollywood. It somehow managed to portray an image of effortless disdain while at the same time leaving very little to the imagination and would no doubt be breaking lesbian hearts all over the internet the next day. 

“Nice of you to make an effort, for once,” he quipped. “You look almost reasonable.” Compared to his sister’s glamorous outfit, not to mention what he’d had to wear during filming, his rented tuxedo felt positively shabby. 

“Oh, shut up.” She jabbed him hard on his proffered arm before taking it. 

“Ow!” 

“Don’t be such a baby.” She smiled, shark-like, at the bellboy who looked like he was going to swoon or curtsey as he opened the door. “Now hold on to me. These shoes are not meant for walking.” 

She sashayed out on needle-sharp heels, gripping Arthur’s arm for balance.

“Intending to stab someone with those?” said Arthur, glancing down at her feet.

“You, if you don’t behave.” 

“Oh, ha ha. Only you would be wearing offensive weapons disguised as footwear.” 

“Don’t be so insulting. They’re Louboutins and anyway Elena was quite insistent to have them available in case I needed to stab you.” 

“I don’t believe you. My sister-in-law loves me.” He ushered her forward to where the chauffeur was holding open the door to a sleek, black Mercedes with blackened windows. “That’s why she’s lending you to me tonight.” 

Elena and Morgana had finally tied the knot a few weeks previously. The reception had been lavish, of course, as he would expect from Morgana. But the ceremony had also included an interactive drumming workshop that Arthur had scoffed at but enjoyed far more than he would ever let on. 

They had only recently returned from their honeymoon on Vivian’s new island. Their phones were now cluttered with sheafs of photographs of the endangered dragons and a bunch of ideas for a new Caribbean reptile conservation program. 

“She tolerates you,” sneered Morgana, now. Tucking her skirt behind her, she sank back into the limo, swivelling her feet in after her before shuffling up. “For my sake. But you owe us for tonight. Big time.” 

“I know.” Arthur followed her into the car, and the chauffeur closed the door softly before returning to the driver’s seat. “And thank you. For coming with me, I mean.” 

“That’s all right, dear brother.” She patted his hand condescendingly as the car started to move. “Elena and Gwen are always happy to travel together to the show. And Gwen wanted someone to keep her company, as it turns out that her brother couldn’t make it after all. Which brings me to the question… where’s Merlin tonight? Don’t tell me Gaius let him chicken out altogether.” 

“Oh, he’s coming. He’s in a separate limo. We thought it best if we made separate entrances. We’re not quite ready to make our relationship public, yet.”

“You didn’t make your poor boyfriend go alone, I hope?”

“Of course not.” Sighing, Arthur stared out of the window as the bustling streets of the West End inched past. “It was his choice to go separately.” 

“Can’t say I blame him,” she said archly. “I’m not sure I want to share a car with you either.”

“Oh, ha ha.” They turned into Piccadilly Circus, where the statue of Eros presided over the purposeful crowds, the benevolent but mischievous matchmaking god at London’s heart. “He’s fine. He’s brought a plus one, as it happens.”

“Oh? Who? A rival for your affection?” She nudged him. “Spill the beans.”

“Hardly.” He smiled, content to have one over on her for once. “You’ll see, soon enough.” 

“You’re no fun.”

“You’re no-_sy_. Nosy! Haha, geddit?”

“That was a terrible pun, even for you, dear brother.” 

“I reserve my best jokes for the best company, dear sister.”

They both laughed. Their bickering made him feel more comfortable, but even so, as the car stopped and started in its fitful journey towards the cinema, anxiety began to press at his chest. When the limo rounded the corner towards Leicester Square, his heart rate began to soar. It continued to rise as they stepped out, passing screaming crowds of teenagers and autograph hunters. The damn thing didn’t stop thumping as both he and Morgana stopped to scribble on a few photographs and smile for several selfies, and it was still racing as if he’d just run a marathon as they walked on along the red carpet and past the flashing bulbs of the paparazzi into the arms of the press. 

How could Morgana look so calm? Arthur’s mouth was all dry and his hands felt clammy. 

But then he made himself look around, past all the strangers with their hungry gazes, and smile as if he was having the time of his life. After all, he told himself, some of the people he loved were already here, and others kept arriving all the time. He knew that there was an unwritten protocol about this procession, and that each of them should use their allotted time to be greeted by the crowds who had turned out to see them, but he couldn’t help it that his smile widened when he caught sight of Elena, Gwen, and a blonde-haired woman that he recognised as Morgana’s half sister, Morgause. 

As he waved, he caught sight of his father, near the end of the line of slowly moving celebrities. Looking up, Uther saw him and beckoned. 

“Arthur!” Uther was nearly on the steps of the cinema, together with Balinor, and they were both surrounded by a sea of flashing lights and a forest of wide-angle lenses. Evidently, the two surviving Dragonlords could still drawn the paparazzi’s attention. “Over here!” 

As the smiling Uther drew him and Morgana in for a Pendragon family photograph, Arthur couldn’t help smiling back. Since their heart to heart at Tintagel, his relationship with his father, although he still wouldn’t class it as affectionate, had warmed significantly. 

“Where’s Merlin?” Balinor’s eyebrows, already set in a perpetual frown, knotted together. “Didn’t you come together?” 

“Don’t ask him, Balinor,” said Morgana archly. “He’s being insufferably mysterious about it.” She scrunched up her mouth and nose to pull a face, which Arthur mirrored. 

Immediately, there was a flurry of staccato clicks. 

“That’ll be hitting social media before you can say Pendragon sibling reunion,” murmured Morgana out of the corner of her mouth. 

Just then, Vivian strode over, with Gorlois at her side. She had died her hair in rainbow colours for the occasion, and was dressed in a purple sequinned trouser suit and purple patent leather Doctor Martens boots. Her bright purple lipstick clashed with her hair. 

“Ah. There you are, Uther,” she said airily. “I’m shocked that you submitted to airing your dirty laundry in public like this. Well done.” 

“Vivian—” protested Uther, rolling his eyes. 

“But they do say that a dog always returns to its vomit.” Pausing to blow cigarette smoke into Uther’s face, which he wafted away with his hand, eyes watering, she bent to kiss Arthur and Morgana on both cheeks. “Hello, darlings. Come, Gorlois.” She stomped up the steps with Gorlois trailing after her. “Thanks for the island, Balinor!” she yelled over one shoulder as she disappeared through the revolving doors. 

“Thank God I divorced that insufferable woman,” muttered Uther while Morgana and Arthur stifled their laughter. 

“Are you coming in, Arthur?” said Morgana as she grabbed her skirt and turned to follow.

“Not yet. People are still arriving.”

“Ah, you mean you’re waiting for Merlin and his mysterious plus one.” 

“Morgana!” It was Arthur’s turn to roll his eyes. Thankfully, he caught sight of some more of the crew in their glad rags, and waved with as much dignity as he could muster. “Look, there’s Daegal. Daegs! Haven’t seen you for ages.” 

He waved Daegal and Percival over. God only knows where they’d found a sleeveless tuxedo for Percival to wear. His outfit looked like something off Magic Mike although Arthur had to concede that Percival’s tree-trunk arms deserved the exposure. 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Arthur. Come in with me! I need you to hold my arm!” Morgana’s forehead wrinkled. 

“I’ll escort you, Morgana, my dear,” said Uther, reaching out with his elbow. “It will be my honour.”

“Oh.” She actually smiled at him. “Thanks, Uther!”

“My pleasure.” He smiled back. “You look absolutely stunning tonight, and I couldn’t be more proud of your achievements with this movie.”

Arthur gaped at his father and his sister. This was another recent development that Arthur still was struggling to get his head around. Uther and Morgana being civil or even affectionate to one another – in public and in private. They still sniped, of course, but there was a mellow quality to their bickering now and he could not remember the last time either of them had raised their voice. 

Soon, they had disappeared with Elena, Gwen, Daegal, Percival not far behind, leaving both Arthur and Balinor hanging around on the steps in an awkward silence while the paparazzi checked their photographic equipment and exchanged a few remarks about the weather. The red carpet started to empty, and one by one the waiting _Dragonlords_ fans started to peel away. 

But finally, after most of the fans had disappeared, another black Mercedes appeared. Arthur smiled, the anticipation making his chest warm for a moment. Sure enough, out stepped Merlin, still looking incredibly dapper in his dinner jacket, even though his hair had already escaped from its sleek, well-combed style so that Arthur itched to thumb it back into place. As he stepped out of the car, Merlin reached inside to help someone else out. 

“Who’s that with Wyllt?” said one of the photographers, training his camera on the car and taking a few desultory snaps. 

“Dunno,” said another one. “No-one important, I reckon.” 

A diminutive woman stepped out, and walked towards her, her arm linked through the smiling Merlin’s. She was dressed in a simple but elegant black trouser suit, with a handbag to match, and shoes that looked as if they owed more to comfort than to high fashion. 

“You reckon wrong,” breathed Balinor, as he descended the steps to tug her away from the encroaching press. “Dear Hunith. You look radiant, tonight.” 

“Ah, Balinor. There you are, you scruffy, cantankerous old oaf.” The woman raised smiling eyes that sparkled with mischief and held out a hand for him to kiss. Reaching up, she picked at an invisible piece of lint on his shoulder. “You could have made an effort, you know. It is a special occasion, after all.” 

Still scolding, she ascended the steps, beckoning him to follow as if she were the dragonlord and Balinor the dragon. 

“Come on.” Merlin slipped his hand into Arthur’s and flashed him a wry grin. “There are only a couple of photographers left. Shall we give them a show?” 

“Yeah!” Arthur grinned back and dipped in for a kiss that was destined to break the internet. 

*******

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, I'm not getting paid.


End file.
